4. The Day Even a Vigilant Saint Gets the "Village-Good Sword" [Launch Explosion 7/50]

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(Extra chapter for the “Frostfang Claws” brothers [7/10])

Under Dick’s leadership, Eriel completed the crystallization of the Light of Sanctity, the entire process witnessed by the other guardians.
They naturally regarded this as a sacred matter!
After all, the first thing their ancient saint did upon awakening was to protect their people, ruthlessly slaying alien foes, while imparting the truths of their race to young warriors and warning them of the chaotic threats lurking in the world.
Hiss, why does that sound a bit off?
Yet, upon reflection, it didn’t seem problematic at all.
Forget it, no need to ponder further. In short, the saint has awakened—good days lie ahead for the Draenei! The saint is back, and the demons’ doomsday approaches!
“May the Holy Light bless you, child.”
Dick concluded with a classic priestly chant.
As he withdrew his finger from Eriel’s forehead, a warm, golden holy light manifested around her, swirling and converging until it condensed into a small, exquisite “Mark of the Lightwalker” on her brow—signifying the Light’s favor upon her.
Dick was unsurprised.
This fierce young woman before him had a formidable background.
In an alternate timeline of the Dark Portal’s true history, she had replaced Velen as the Draenei’s spiritual leader. Although later her zealotry led her astray, driving the Draenei to frenzied extremes as “Holy Light zealots,” shouting “The Light purifies all,” forcibly reshaping other races on Draenor into lightforged slaves.
But none of that was a big issue!
From a mortal perspective, Eriel’s affinity with the Light was flawless; her talents in mastering the Light and combat far surpassed those of Diakem from twenty thousand years prior. If she could survive the “Fallen Arena Catastrophe,” she would surely achieve great things.
Of course, when it came to affinity with the Light, 99.9% of Draenei could not compare to Dick, who was gradually becoming the “Scion of the Light.”
A portion of his body was composed of remnants of a Naaru—pure beings birthed from the Light itself. Without obsessing over precision, Dick could even claim to be the “Living Voice of the Light.”
This was no exaggeration.
“The Light has embraced me.”
Half-kneeling, Eriel opened her eyes, feeling the radiant energy filling her.
The warmth of a blessed embrace by a tender hand made her feel as if in a dream, yet she brimmed with confidence—perhaps inspired by the Light’s encouragement. She rose, gripping the heavy gem-encrusted war sword before her.
Anxiously, she addressed Dick:
“Great Watcher! May we depart to aid Amberly Village now?”
“Of course. We are about to do just that, fulfilling our duty through this act of guardianship.”
With a grand gesture, Dick signaled the ready guardians, who swiftly mounted their war tabrams. The elite ranger retrieved the mount of a fallen comrade to give to the novice Eriel.
The captain of the guardians sighed, tugging his reins as he spoke to Dick:
“Sir, your sacred form is too large; ordinary tabrams cannot bear you. Shall we fetch the runaway thunder elephants?”
“No need, warriors! The Light grants its devout soldiers the power to gallop freely across land, sky, and sea!”
Dick smiled, stroking the forehead of the gem-armored war tabram. Soon, a prompt flashed before his eyes: “Divine War Steed: Majestic War Tabram form recorded!”
Under the astonished gaze of the guardians, their saint called upon the Light.
From the gathering radiance, a larger, more robust war tabram appeared—an energy form entirely woven from golden light. This magnificent sacred spirit wore armor forged of light, its milky-white eyes blazing beneath heavy plates. Its coiled horns resembled a war hammer shaped by the Light, exuding both nobility and awe.
The tabrams beneath the warriors stirred, seemingly intimidated by this “spirit of light.”
Dick paid no mind; he mounted the luminous steed, grasped the reins molded of light, raised his broken war staff as a throwing spear, then made the Hand of Argus gesture, charging forward at the lead.
Eriel followed closely, then the guardians and ranger.
“Ah! We’ve made an oversight!”
As they burst from the forest, the guardian captain slapped his forehead hard.
“We didn’t prepare armor for the saint! He still wears the tattered set from over twenty thousand years ago when he fell into slumber—his burial shroud serving as cloak.
This is most undignified!
The saint should not appear before the people in such a state.”
“Don’t be so dogmatic.”
The elite ranger shook his head.
“The saint isn’t one to cling to appearances; he is a warrior! Besides, the worn armor cannot diminish the dignity of the ancient saint. He saved us upon awakening and cares little for his outward form.
Don’t project your thoughts onto him; perhaps his heart now beats only with a fierce desire to protect those under threat. Such noble protection is his most sacred cloak.”
The guardians nodded in agreement, accepting this reasoning as the true spirit of the saint.
So what was their selfless saint thinking at this moment?
“These children from twenty thousand years later don’t seem very bright.”
Dick grumbled inwardly as he rode the divine war steed toward Amberly Village.
“Your armor doesn’t fit my frame, but at least bring me a cloak to cover this ragged mess! I look utterly disgraceful! If Maldren saw this, he’d scold me for ‘tarnishing military discipline’ again.
Ah, Maldren, my brother.”
Dick sighed.
On the galloping steed, he glanced at the ring on his left hand.
The Heart of Argus had adorned his finger for over twenty thousand years—weighty and restrained as the day he left Argus, a tangible covenant binding him.
Yet, away from home, this artifact had lost all its wonder.
It had become little more than a crude ornament. Though the “Ancient Elemental Blessing” remained active, Dick was no shaman; he could not harness the enhancement.
For him and those Draenei who bore the Heart of Argus across the star sea, in this era, it was perhaps only a keepsake.
As he once said, when the Draenei are lost, a Heart of Argus can always guide them back to the right path. As long as the wish to cleanse their homeland is remembered, their civilization will not stray.
Yet now, his sacred coffin had been desecrated through collusion between the Shadow Council and traitors within the Draenei.
Dick narrowed his eyes.
He knew his greatest fear might be quietly materializing. Though the overall strength of the Draenei clans might surpass the “true exiles” who fell on Draenor in the official timeline, evidently “radicals” or “liberalists” opposing mainstream tradition had emerged within their society.
Excellent!
Just as he awoke to face two millennia of upheaval, he was worried about finding suitable opponents for his wrath—yet here the unseeing scum delivered themselves!
Once he contacted Nairi, he would root out every petty schemer hiding in the shadows, strangling and burning them before all, showing the tribe what fate befalls “traitors” who forget the past.
“No!”
Dick suddenly jolted.
He realized his previous thoughts were too extreme.
Such ruthlessness was unbefitting of a Lightwalker, nor aligned with his usual mindset! In truth, even his actions and thoughts since awakening seemed somewhat extreme.
He was being influenced by some force.
Could it be the blind faith and zealotry of the Light affecting him?
“Saint! Look ahead! Amberly Village is burning! But why is the flame that color?”
Eriel’s panicked shout made Dick lift his gaze.
Across the not-too-distant hills, he saw the Draenei town near the crossroads on the plain.
The gem-studded domes were signature architecture of their race, yet chaos was plainly visible. Eriel was right—an eerie violet flame flickered atop the tallest building.
It was hardly fire, more like a corrosive, seductive energy dancing in flame’s guise.
This was certainly not the demon’s green fel energy.
“It’s Void!”
Dick narrowed his eyes, voice grave:
“The orcs have wielded Void power to breach our village—likely the Shadowmoon clan’s warlocks.
Don’t panic, children!
Steady your hearts and call upon the Light to shield your minds. This level of Void power cannot corrupt a Forcewalker’s spirit! But remain vigilant—when your mind falters, the Void will slip in to plant seeds of doubt.
Gather close!
I will grant you some blessings.”
He slowed his divine steed, beckoning the guardians to assemble.
Then, expending more holy power, he cast a group spell—Group Mindfire—upon them. This priestly defense converted magic into an invisible shield reinforcing their armor and offered mental protection, the best countermeasure against mind curses.
With the elegant and solemn gestures and chants inherited from the high priests of the Rula Temple, the lingering holy light flared anew, bestowing Group Spiritual Prayer and Group True Word: Fortitude upon the warriors. Their spirits ignited like flames, and their bodies strengthened like bulls.
Since buffs were applied, Dick, a high-level priest, was generous. His mana pool was vast, and he performed the showmanship of priest skills along with paladin blessings.
Blessings enhancing intelligence, strength, Light as counterattack protection, and universal attribute boosts—the King’s Blessing.
Ordinary paladins could only bestow one blessing at a time, requiring harmony with their own Light.
But the saint had privileges!
With a grand sweep of his hand, he granted all blessings to his children, empowering them to be mightier and more formidable in the coming battle.
Within seconds, every warrior was fortified with at least nine buffs.
Most absurdly, even their war tabrams received the saint’s enhancement. Since he was here anyway, why not boost their skill proficiency? Even though these skills had been honed to “exquisite” or beyond through Diakem’s twenty-thousand-year training, if not for life rank restrictions, Diakem—the “grinder”—would have perfected them to “flawless.”
After the saint’s careful bestowal of endurance, spirit, mental protection, and armor boosts, even rookie Eriel genuinely felt her strength increase.
This array of high-level blessings filled her with power, capable of challenging a raging thunder elephant alone.
No illusion there!
One hallmark of the priest class was to magically bolster allies; healing was only part of their duty.
“Help! The orcs have gone mad!”
Approaching Amberly’s entrance, near the burning thunder elephant pen, some terrified Draenei herders clutched pitchforks, hiding behind grass, shouting but too afraid to enter the chaos and aid their kin.
Their fear was understandable; the orc force invading was quite large.
These wild, brutal foes howled and set fires, while sinister warlocks summoned shadow stalkers and hurled void flames at the innocent and buildings. Many Draenei were knocked down, bound with slave ropes, and dragged away.
Others who resisted were mercilessly slaughtered, their bodies hauntingly scattered among the burning ruins.
Eriel clenched her teeth, seething with hatred, wanting to slaughter all orcs. Her previous benign impressions of orcs had vanished, replaced by pure hatred, and the Light did not condemn her feelings.
“Follow me! Eradicate the evil—leave none alive!”
Dick roared orders, leading the charge into town. One-handed, he swung his war hammer with the momentum of the divine steed, knocking a lecherous orc pursuing a crying Draenei girl into the air.
No need to mourn the brute; he died instantly as he flew, landing peacefully in four separate spots.
The radiant war steed’s light and shadow effects quickly drew the attention of the orc raiders. At first unafraid, the frenzied orcs howled, brandishing weapons to encircle the massive Draenei.
Fueled by violence, bold in numbers.
But after losing two to the steed’s charge and others swiftly dispatched by Dick’s radiant explosions and fiery strikes as the “Flamehead Captain,” the orcs sensed something was wrong.
“A legend!”
A Shadowmoon warlock casting void fire to consume souls screamed in terror from above.
“The Draenei have sent a legendary guardian to attack us—retreat, now!”
His warning cut short as Dick’s thrown “Broken Spear” pierced his body like a golden meteor, hurling him through a building to impale him on the wall.
Underneath the burning tormentor lay a huddled herder who witnessed everything. She saw how these savage orcs were no different from slaughtered swine under the assault of their mighty kin.
Fear was dispelled by the dancing lights. Trembling, she rose, watching the guardian saint wield his hammer like a giant forged from the Light, slaughtering fleeing orcs.
Guardians fought like wolves and tigers, villagers armed with crude weapons reformed the line, and the wounded resident priestess Minara shouted orders.
The orcs were no longer frightening—so said the female herder.
She reached out, struggling, to extract the broken spear from the impaled warlock-orc. The once white holy flame had blackened the bones, yet the weapon still burned with high-temperature sacred fire.
The light’s flame did not burn her fingers; rather, it brought healing warmth.
A fierce voice seemed to roar within the weapon, but she dared not care.
Clutching the spear, she staggered toward her hut. Seeing her child being seized by a green-marked orc as a slave, a mother’s strength surged like a fierce tabram’s roar.
With a single strike from the saint’s spear, she pierced the orc’s back and set him ablaze like a blazing torch.
As if the saint himself had arrived!
“Don’t be afraid, the Watcher has come to save us.”
Cradling her crying child, she spat on the corpse at her feet and staggered toward the makeshift defensive line erected by villagers led by Eriel.
Dick did not require civilians to fight; that was not their burden.
He only needed them to protect themselves; he would resolve the battle.
Amberly Village resembled a spectacle following the saint’s resurrection. The legendary Watcher rode the majestic spirit steed, swinging his weapon. Each strike unleashed a fierce burst of holy light upon foes; each swing radiated a healing, dignified aura.
The divine energy shimmered so frequently that wherever Dick went, visible ripples of light formed, like a halo surrounding him.
The sacred flames bestowed by the Radiant Star burned so fiercely that even the toughest orc raiders ignited upon contact with the war hammer.
The orcs had no means to quench this blazing alien holy light, only wailing as they burned to ashes. Even Shadowmoon warlocks wielding void power could not withstand the sacred fire.
Perhaps because they harnessed dark forces, the saint’s white flames burned them with even greater fury.
They say like master, like dog; though the analogy fell short, the milky-white flame truly matched Dick’s character—showing no mercy to enemies.
By the end, even the guardians who followed the saint could not approach the battlefield.
The radiant heat blazing around the Watcher was overwhelming, the energy fire like a brilliant sun scorched everything indiscriminately. The guardians felt their armor melting.
They could only escort civilians away from the village to avoid being burned by the saint’s power.
“Hurry, have the Watcher end his magic!”
The guardian captain stamped anxiously.
“If this continues, the whole village will be set ablaze by the sacred flames! There are still kin hiding inside.”
“We can’t get close!”
The elite ranger wiped cold sweat, saying:
“The saint may have slept too long; his holy power is somewhat out of control! This is extreme. Were these ancient Eredar all monsters? Even Nairi the High Priestess and those Argus Hands veterans go berserk in battle, beyond anyone’s control.”

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“Eriel! Child, don’t go in! You’ll be melted by the burning sun’s rays.”
Old guardian Tenum shouted in alarm. The captain turned just to see the rookie Eriel charging into the scorching blaze the saint himself had ignited ahead.
She seemed to plunge into a swirl of light and shadow, instantly vanishing.
Then, to everyone’s concern, the searing glow suddenly transformed. The overwhelming, destructive power that incinerated all like a falling sun softened into gentle dawn light, spreading a healing wave across Amberly Village.
The villagers bathed in the morning light gasped in astonishment.
Their wounds visibly healed under the light’s touch; even their spirits and wills seemed caressed by a sacred hand, dispelling fatigue.
As the miraculous dawn light faded, all saw the dignified Watcher standing amid the village center, weapon in hand.
His war hammer had melted entirely from his sacred flames, and around him lay the charred corpses of marauders.
The terrified foes still knelt, begging for mercy, but the saint showed none—their sole fate was to be charred by the wrathful flames of the Sun’s Herald.
Eriel knelt partially at the saint’s feet, as if in devout prayer.
In truth, she had just narrowly escaped death; Dick, barely containing his legendary power, nearly incinerated this promising child like an orc.
“Sorry, child.”
He lowered his head, tenderly touching and healing the burn on Eriel’s forehead, sighing,
“I lost control of my power; the fury at seeing our kin harmed nearly overwhelmed me. The frenzy of battle made me feel as if I had returned to Argus’s bloody final struggle—those remorseful memories still entangle me.”
“That is your holiness, great Watcher.”
Eriel gritted her teeth, saying,
“I have sworn to become like you, to protect our people with the flames that incinerate our foes.”
“Don’t imitate me—transcend me and become even greater.”
Dick encouraged her with heartfelt warmth, then glanced regretfully at the gem war hammer melted by his power. His holy power overload was dangerously unstable.
The immense holy energy must be released soon, or it would inevitably harm his warriors.
He discarded the hammer and stripped off his utterly melted armor, wearing only a pair of sturdy Eredar-crafted shorts and a durable Ogrun chest backpack as he strode toward the rescued villagers.
By now, Amberly’s people had learned from the guardians that the Watcher saint they had worshiped for over two centuries had returned to save them during the disaster. As Dick approached, some clever soul led the civilians to drop to their knees en masse.
This left Dick quite helpless.
He thought to himself: Twenty thousand years later, the Draenei sure are polite—bowing with utmost reverence at first meeting. Should he kneel and kowtow back?
“Saint, this is your weapon. Thank you for saving me and my child.”
The female herder trembled as she presented the broken spear with both hands. Dick nodded, reclaiming his war staff, then glanced at the little girl kneeling beside her mother, tear-streaked but secretly observing him.
Dick smiled gently at her before walking toward the guardians.
“Mommy, the saint smiled at me!”
The innocent child cheered, prompting her mother to hold her tightly.
She had nearly lost her child.
Ah, thanks to the Watcher! Thanks to the Holy Light!

———

“Watcher, some villagers were taken. Our brother Tenum says they were captured and brought to the Shadowmoon clan fortress.”
The guardian captain reported to Dick:
“If we leave now, we might catch those slavers.”
“To force them to kill our kin under threat of death? No! The villagers are likely safe for now; they were taken for some dark ritual.
Rest tonight in the village. You all need rest after continuous fighting. At dawn, we depart for the Shadowmoon fortress to rescue them. Send scouts to tail the slavers and spy on the orcs’ situation.
If those captured face danger tonight, we leave immediately.”
Dick then looked at the injured resident priestess Minara and old guardian Tenum.
The former was Amberly’s spiritual leader and village head; the latter maintained daily security. Both were born outside Argus, and under the saint’s gaze, though nervous, they straightened to show respect.
“Can we contact the ranger outpost here?”
Dick asked.
Priestess Minara nodded promptly,
“The communication device was damaged, but I can repair it. By tomorrow morning, we should reach Elodor Town.”
“Good, do it quickly.”
Dick nodded, then asked old guardian Tenum,
“Is there a blacksmith in the village? I need to repair my weapon.”
“You mean the legendary ‘Kazakh’s Grudge’?”
Tenum frowned, sighed,
“There is a blacksmith, saint, but I doubt their skill can fix such a sacred relic. We lack quality materials; this is a small village.”
“No need to fix it perfectly—just replace the iron staff.”
Dick waved casually,
“I just need it battle-ready. Other weapons can’t withstand my full force. Also, I need armor fitting my size. Is one night enough?”
“Normally, no. But for your request, the whole village would stay awake to prepare everything overnight.”
The old guardian was clearly clever.
Sensing the saint’s kindness, he smiled,
“Please don’t feel pressured by our enthusiasm, saint. Serving your sacred coffin for over two centuries, we are already your children.”
“Well, I’m truly blessed with many children.”
Dick laughed heartily.
His laugh dispelled the saintly dignity, making him seem more human.
Moments later, a cautious Draenei female merchant approached, bowed, and said,
“I heard your concerns, saint. You need not risk damaging your sacred relic in battle. If you desire a high-quality weapon, I can provide one to thank you for saving my homeland and life.
I assure you, it’s the best weapon you can find in Amberly.”
“Oh? The legendary ‘Village’s Finest Blade’?”
Dick blinked,
“Bring it to me for appraisal, child.”

(End of chapter)

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