Pirate Phantom
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Chapter 59: The Pastor’s Wife’s Fading
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 06:54:41 +0000 UTC“Hey, Pastor! How about a round of Gwent? I once met a witcher named White Wolf, and ever since he taught me how to play, my life’s been a lot more colorful!”
The foreigner, who had long been wandering the wilderness, pulled out a deck of cards the very first time he met Pastor Lynn. Even Paladins praised this pastime, and though the gods might consider it improper, they didn’t bother to forbid it—after all, who doesn’t love a good card game?
Pastor Lynn was momentarily dumbfounded.
He glanced at the stranger his eldest daughter, Maria, had brought home and for a moment didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, the man was perceptive enough to put away his Gwent deck without pushing for a round of high-stakes play. As he began talking, Lynn and Maria soon learned the stranger’s background.
The man was trying to create a brand-new profession.
In Fractured, the world of the extraordinary and mysterious had already gone through millennia of development. The age when one could pick a random direction, recklessly develop it, and be recognized as a legitimate profession was long past.
Most transcendents followed the established paths. A rare few, unwilling to merely imitate others, attempted to forge their own professions. But even for them, the path was grueling—almost every road had already been walked.
The man before them was a living legend.
Upon learning he was treading the path of the ancients, Maria instantly judged that anyone able to take this step had to hold an NPC class somewhere between Silver and Gold rank. Without enough accumulated skill and power, there was no way to create a profession worthy of recognition by the world.
For that reason, the stranger kept his humility oath and refused to reveal his identity to Pastor Lynn.
“…That’s all I can tell you, Pastor. How about we just pretend I was never in Seth Town?” The man produced a bottle of liquor from nowhere and, without a hint of shame, began drinking inside the Lord’s own church. Maria swore it had to be a piece of spatial gear.
“I’ll need a token from you for my records.”
As a responsible overseer, Pastor Lynn couldn’t just ignore someone in his territory. Rolling his eyes, he held his ground, and the stranger, realizing the pastor was stubborn, reluctantly pulled out an amulet.
The instant the amulet appeared, a flash of shock crossed Maria’s eyes.
It was a diamond-like shape bisected by a vertical line.
In Version 3.0 Nightmare Blood Plague, this symbol had once swept the land, marking the rise of another elegant, dashing profession after the Farron Swordsman and the Elven Archer—the Hunter. This simplified Hanged Man emblem represented the Hunter’s history and burden.
Which meant this free-spirited young man’s real identity was…
Maria stared at the man’s ruggedly handsome face, trying to overlay it with the aged, weary visage in her memory.
Under the black-clad nun’s intense gaze, even the thick-skinned foreigner began to falter. Did this beautiful nun not know just how dangerous it was to stare at a man like that? She was bound to cause misunderstandings.
He winked at her, almost flirtatiously.
Taking advantage of the fact that no one could gang up on him here, the stranger let out a wolf-whistle, then quickly vanished from the church in a “time to split” fashion.
As for Maria—
The people and events piling up around her made her realize that a storm was once again forming, with her at its center. In her ears, like a curse, surfaced a line from the forums of her past life: It can be inferred that after escaping Cainhurst, Senior Sister’s childhood was far from happy.
That night, her mother Ruth’s illness worsened again.
The high-grade divine arts Maria had brought back only restored a bit of her vitality, but the body—already nearing collapse—devoured it instantly, greedily consuming the last of her life force. The sudden deterioration was so severe that neither Pastor Lynn nor Maria had anticipated it.
It was a cruel sensation.
Like a lamp burning low, sputtering once… and going out.
On her deathbed, Ruth looked first at Felia, then at Maria, and finally at her husband. A complex smile touched her lips. Surrounded by the calls of her loved ones, that pure, gentle soul slowly drifted into unconsciousness. Her eyes closed, her hand slipped from her husband’s grasp.
Year 999 of the Solar Calendar, February 24th.
Weather: overcast, with light rain.
The funeral for the Pastor’s wife was held. Many townsfolk came to offer white flowers in mourning for this kind and gentle woman. Some of the elderly wept openly.
Maria stood before the coffin, hollow-eyed. She had been so close—so close—to succeeding, willing even to delve into forbidden knowledge. Why had it ended like this? Why, at the final moment, as if by design, had everything crumbled?
Hidden in her sleeve, she clenched a vial of blood. She couldn’t bear to meet Felia’s innocent, questioning gaze.
She had promised to protect her mother.
Yet in the blink of an eye, she had broken her vow to her sister. One by one, mourners came forward, each placing a white flower, each uttering words of grief. Every phrase, every blossom, lashed at her already fragile mind. Hallucinatory visions began to flicker before her eyes, strange and alluring, beckoning to the black-clad nun. If she only gave in, she could have so much more than she had ever dared to imagine.
Her weakening mental state triggered a faint leakage of the power in her bloodline.
Maria knew this was dangerous.
But she was so tired. If this could bring her mother back, why not move faster… bolder… more reckless…
Just as those dark thoughts began to take shape in her grief-stricken mind, the foreigner’s slightly hoarse voice cut through them.
“Maria, you look awful. Why don’t you rest?”
“…Mm. Thank you.”
Sniffling, the nun straightened herself a little. She couldn’t help but feel ashamed of her weakness, how easily she had been swayed by the power in her blood. If this continued, how could she face a true chaos demon or a high-ranker? A flaw of the heart was far more dangerous than a weakness of the flesh. And right now, the black-clad nun’s heart was enduring a trial she could not avoid.
Comments
AchroniaXenia
Did The Stranger sense the rise from her blood? Because that was a little too good timing there
