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From the depths of a sleep so deep he could not even dream, Leon’s eyelids began to tremble as he came around just ten hours after his arrival at the camp. Thanks to the Stigma of the Guardian, he usually felt refreshed after just an hour or two of rest, but the race against Nephren-Ka had drained him to the absolute limit.
Had it not been for the Holy Law poured into him by the Holy Iron Inquisitors and his Stigmata, he might have needed a week of uninterrupted sleep to recover.
The first of his senses to return was hearing. The murmur of many voices, the rustle of clothing, the clink of weapons at belts. As he listened vaguely, the rest of his senses returned in order, and his mind cleared.
What happened…? Leon thought, jogging through his hazy memory.
The last thing he thought he saw was Elahan’s face, her scent of sweat and dust lingering on the edge of recollection.
El Cid was the first to greet him.
—Finally awake, are you? This time, you were really close. If that Saintess girl had been ten seconds later, you’d be dead. Lucky for you, she must have gotten a revelation or something from that dummy goddess—her timing was uncanny.
So it really was Elahan…?
—Yep. She pulled off something absurd. To unleash Divine Judgment alone was outrageous enough, but then she kept fighting afterward? Makes you wonder how they trained her.
They had called her the strongest...
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