CHAPTER 66:The Weight of Light and Shadow
"**WHAT?!**"
Vennessa's voice shattered the fragile quiet of the room, sharp and raw, like glass breaking under pressure. She rose from her seat so abruptly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor, her hands clenched at her sides as she stared at Mr. Eli in disbelief.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, her voice trembling between fear and anger. "You can't just say something like that and stop."
Mr. Eli stood near the foot of the bed, his white garments hanging heavier than usual, as though soaked with unseen guilt. He looked tired—no, older. The lines beneath his eyes were deeper now, carved there by sleepless nights and unspoken regrets.
"I'm not entirely sure yet," he said slowly, choosing his words with painful care.
Zodac's gaze never left him. Even lying flat on the bed, his body weakened, his left arm wrapped in darkened veins and discolored flesh, his presence was still oppressive in its own way—silent, observant, calculating.
"But if what I heard is correct," Mr. Eli continued, turning fully toward him, "Master Zodac was struck directly by the dragon's dark fog."
"The fog that reached the village," Zodac said, his voice hoarse but steady, "had already weakened. It traveled from the mountain peak, spread thin by distance and wind before it ever touched the town."
Mr. Eli nodded grimly. "Exactly. What plagued the villagers was a diluted remnant. But what struck you…" He hesitated, swallowing hard. "That was the source."
Vennessa's face drained of color.
"Then… then that means—"
"We may be dealing with something far worse," Mr. Eli finished quietly. "A true curse."
The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
Zodac let out a slow breath through his nose. Pain throbbed relentlessly in his arm, spreading in dull, burning pulses toward his chest, but he forced himself not to react. He had endured worse. Or so he told himself.
"Explain," he said.
There was no fear in his voice—only interest.
Mr. Eli folded his hands together, as if bracing himself. "A curse is not like poison or sickness. It is not an ordinary spell. Curses are deliberate. They are layered, patient, and cruel."
He paced slowly, each step measured. "They do not kill immediately. They settle into the body, into the soul. They wait. And once they reach a certain stage…" His voice lowered. "There is no stopping them. No cure. Only the certainty big death or despair."
"Mr. Eli," Vennessa snapped, tears already gathering in her eyes. "That's not helping."
Zodac let out a dry breath that almost resembled a laugh. "Not exactly motivating, I'll give you that."
"I apologize," Mr. Eli said quickly, bowing his head. "But you deserve the truth."
"Then keep going," Zodac said. "I didn't fight a dragon to be spared honesty."
Mr. Eli straightened. "All curses originate from dark magic. Every single one. And there is only one force known to stand directly against it."
He paused.
Silence stretched.
Vennessa stared at him, her lips parted, her hands trembling slightly. Zodac simply waited.
"…Light magic," Mr. Eli finally said.
Zodac's eyes flickered. *Of course.*
"So obvious," he muttered inwardly.
"But light magic users are rare," Vennessa said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice. "And even among them, dispelling a curse of this magnitude would require a grandmaster—someone with decades of training."
"That's correct," Mr. Eli agreed. "And depending on the curse's depth, even one may not be enough."
Zodac exhaled slowly. His head felt heavier by the second. "That's a lot to take in."
"There is another option," Mr. Eli said suddenly.
Both Zodac and Vennessa turned toward him.
"There exists a substance," he continued, "imbued with properties close to light itself. Used for blessings. For warding evil."
Zodac's brow furrowed. "You're talking about—"
"Holy water," Mr. Eli said.
Zodac's eyes narrowed as the man reached into his robe.
From within, he withdrew a slender white vial, its surface faintly glowing, as though holding light trapped within glass.
Zodac activated his system instinctively.
*Scan.*
The familiar translucent panel flickered before his eyes.
**
**Name:** Holy Water
**State:** Purest Form (Sparkling Essence)
His breath caught.
"This is all we have left," Mr. Eli said quietly. "Not enough to dispell the curse completely, but it may slow the curse. Buy you time. Enough to reach the Capital to get more."
Zodac tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through his left side.
His body refused him.
He collapsed back against the bed, jaw clenched, refusing to cry out as the darkness along his arm pulsed visibly, creeping like a living thing.
"Where?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"The Capital High Chapel," Mr. Eli said.
"The High Chapel alone can produce holy water of sufficient purity."
"I can send for someone to get it, while you rest up here"
Vennessa's hands shook as she looked at Zodac's arm, then back at Mr. Eli. "At the rate this is spreading… won't it be too late?"
Zodac didn't hesitate. "then I'll go."
"No," Mr. Eli said sharply, stepping forward. "At this pace, you won't last two days."
He paused—then uncorked the vial.
"This will help."
He poured a small amount into a bowl, soaking a bandage in the shimmering liquid. As he gently lifted Zodac's arm, Zodac finally groaned, the pain ripping through him like fire.
Dark vapor hissed as the holy water made contact.
The smell was sharp, almost metallic.
Zodac's vision blurred.
His eyelids grew heavy as darkness claims him before he fell asleep.
"Now we wait," Mr. Eli said softly.
He stepped outside.
Vennessa followed.
The door closed behind them.
The moment they were outside, her composure shattered.
"What was that?!" she yelled, spinning on him. "You had that all along!"
"I wasn't sure," he said.
"That's not an answer!" she shouted, grabbing his shoulder from behind.
Mr. Eli exhaled, long and broken.
"I confess," he said quietly.
"The town head seeking to make a fortune off the situation… wanted to sell holy water to each house at a high price making them believe it was the cure. Profit from fear. I believed it would work."
His voice cracked. "I was wrong."
Tears streamed down Vennessa's face. "So their blood is on your hands."
"Yes," he said.
"I would never forgive myself" He clebched his fist as he spoke voice cracking with regret,
"I don't expect you to either"
And with that, he walked away—leaving her standing alone beneath the fading light, praying that the hero inside would not pay the price for their foolishness.