Ang stood in the middle of the sickroom, his gaze grave.
He raised a hand and began to chant. A holy mark appeared in his palm, and a warm golden radiance burst from within him, swiftly spreading to fill the entire room.
The Holy Light Technique was fully unleashed. The room became as bright as day, its golden glow gentle and soft, yet filled with powerful holy energy.
Seeing this, the villagers watching outside cried out and dropped to their knees.
As they watched the sacred light in the room descend like a divine revelation, they began to pray in low voices.
Ang's peripheral vision swept past the window, and a thought struck him—their prayer movements were extremely practiced. They clearly had not started on a whim, but had believed devoutly for a long time.
He suddenly remembered that most of this village seemed to be Ganbu people.
But he quickly gathered his thoughts and focused on the eight patients in the room.
Holy light seeped continuously into their bodies like clear spring water, the golden radiance slowly brushing over every inch of skin.
As the treatment continued, their breathing gradually steadied, and color began to return to their pale faces. Some of their fingertips even twitched faintly, as if they were about to wake.
But the hope vanished in an instant.
Their eyelids remained tightly shut. Not one of them truly woke.
After maintaining the spell for ten minutes, Ang slowly withdrew it with a frown. The golden light faded, and the sickroom fell silent once more.
He slowly rose to his feet, his expression solemn.
This condition was far too unusual.
Ordinarily, if they had been afflicted by a dark curse, the Holy Light Technique should at least have triggered some sort of resistance or purification reaction. Yet