The Tower of Judgment, underground prison.
Cold stone walls oozed water droplets, the air thick with the stench of rust, mildew, and despair.
Roswitha curled up in the corner of the crude stone bed, rough shackles grinding against her slender wrists, leaving glaring red marks.
The accusations in the tribunal had coiled around her heart like cold venomous snakes, suffocating her.
Wronged, terrified, and burdened with worry over the unfinished matters at the refugee camp, her emotions churned wildly inside.
She didn’t understand why misfortune always clung to her like a shadow.
“Why… did it have to come to this…”
She whispered softly, her clear blue eyes clouded with moisture, reflecting the flickering dim torchlight outside the cell.
At that moment, heavy footsteps and the clinking of keys sounded outside the cell door.
Two figures clad in standard Church Knight armor appeared beyond the iron bars. One carried a simple wooden tray holding black bread and a bowl of clear water—her dinner.
“Time to eat.” A knight’s voice was flat and emotionless as he opened the cell door.
Roswitha did not move, only lowering her head further. She had no appetite.
The two knights stepped inside and placed the tray on the floor. Just as Roswitha thought they would leave after setting down the food, a sudden shift occurred!
“Attack!” the knight holding the tray barked, flinging the wooden plate and its contents violently at Roswitha’s face!
At the same time, both men drew short daggers hidden beneath their cloaks with lightning speed! The blades gleamed with a toxic blue chill under the dim light, aimed straight for Roswitha’s heart and throat!
Their actions were brutal and swift, perfectly coordinated—obviously well-trained assassins!
A deadly intent instantly engulfed the defenseless Roswitha!
“Ah!” she managed a short, startled cry as her body’s instincts jerked her backward, crashing against the cold stone wall, narrowly avoiding the fatal strike aimed at her throat. But the dagger aimed at her heart was already too close!
The scent of death wafted toward her.
‘Is this how I die? Silently, senselessly, in an underground prison?’ The cold despair froze her thoughts instantly.
“Reggie… Eileen…” two familiar faces flashed in her mind.
Just as the poisoned blade was about to pierce her chest—
“Stop!!!”
A fierce shout filled the cell’s entrance like thunder! A flash of silvery sword light tore through the air, striking the deadly blade away with unerring precision!
Clang! Sparks flew everywhere!
Reggie Liv charged in like an enraged lioness!
Her deep blue hair whipped up with her rapid movement, eyes burning with unbelievable fury!
She hadn’t left the Tower of Judgment at all, lurking nearby, uneasy and driven back by a strong premonition—never expecting to stumble upon such a horrifying scene!
“Reggie!” Roswitha’s voice quivered with tears of relief.
The two “knights,” seeing their assassination failed and the target still alive, flickered with shock, then a mad resolve! Without hesitation or attempt to fight Reggie, they plunged their poisoned daggers back into their own hearts!
Pthhh! Pthhh!
Two muffled sounds rang out almost simultaneously. Their movements were decisive; they collapsed instantly, mouths spewing black blood—clearly poisoned from within!
The entire process was so fast it passed in the blink of an eye—from attempted assassination to suicide in mere seconds!
Reggie Liv held her sword ready, frowning deeply as she stared at the rapidly cooling bodies on the floor, alarm bells ringing loudly in her mind!
“What’s going on?! Who sent them?!” Reggie squatted to examine the corpses, looking for clues, but there were no marks or insignia on them, and their weapons were the most ordinary standard issue—clearly a carefully crafted disguise to leave no trace.
‘Assassination? After the tribunal has already condemned her, and the public execution is in three days? Sending killers now?’ A strong sense of discord chilled her to the bone.
‘Is it Ilith? She hates Roswitha to the core and wants to eliminate her early to prevent future trouble? But… this is too reckless! And where would she find such professional assassins? Heinrich?’
Reggie’s gaze sharpened.
But why would he do this? Wouldn’t the public execution be exactly what he wanted? It would both display “justice” and draw out his allies… unless—
A terrifying thought surfaced:
Unless… he’s afraid Roswitha will survive until the execution day! Afraid that something uncontrollable might happen in the public eye! Or… Roswitha carries a secret more deadly than being a “poison candidate”—a secret that must be ended in the shadows!
She abruptly looked at the still-shaken Roswitha, her eyes full of scrutiny and deep suspicion.
“It’s okay now, Roswitha.” Reggie suppressed the storm raging inside her, softened her voice, and cut through the shackles binding Roswitha’s wrists, “From now on, I will personally guard you. Until… execution day.”
Her tone carried an unyielding determination, yet beneath it lay a subtle confusion and pain even she hadn’t noticed.
The vow to protect a dear friend clashed fiercely within her heart against loyalty to the Church and her family.
For the next two days and nights, Reggie never left Roswitha’s cell, even bringing a chair to sit right outside the door.
She personally inspected every morsel of food and drop of water, vigilant for any sign of trouble.
Her presence was an impenetrable shield, completely foiling Heinrich’s attempt to strike again—but it also became an invisible wall that blocked all Shadow Sword members trying to get close and deliver messages.
The Shadow Sword members were anxious beyond measure but couldn’t break through the knights’ defense, nor dared to reveal themselves recklessly and risk alerting the enemy.
*****
Meanwhile, in an inconspicuous building’s basement in Sol City, the atmosphere was so tense it almost froze.
Eileen, Serena, Lyra, and the bishop Eisenhart—disguised as Winston—and Rita sat around a simple wooden table.
The flickering candlelight illuminated Eisenhart’s tired and solemn face.
“… So, over ten years ago, I was not a heretic, but protecting her.” Eisenhart’s voice was low and hoarse, heavy with the weight of time. “Roswitha… she is not an ordinary human. She is the goddess’s chosen vessel, the container for the True Saintess born into this world.”
He slowly recounted that long-buried history:
Pope Jelorule had long been possessed by a demon from the abyss.
The real Jelorule had likely passed away even earlier.
The demon coveted the immense sacred power contained in the Saintess’s vessel, intending to devour it upon Roswitha’s awakening to complete some terrible ritual or enhance itself.
Eisenhart uncovered the truth and fought fiercely with the demon-possessed pope to protect infant Roswitha.
Though he severely wounded the opponent—which was part of why the pope secluded herself afterward—he was left with an incurable cursed injury that devastated his strength.
“I fled the holy city with her in my arms, but assassins sent by the demon kept coming. My injuries at the time… I could no longer guarantee her absolute safety.” Eisenhart’s eyes brimmed with pain and helplessness.
“With the help of several like-minded comrades—who also sensed the Church’s abnormalities and later became the core members of the Shadow Sword—we made an extremely risky decision—”
“To send her back to the holy city, disguised as the poorest child, to be placed in a Church-run orphanage.”
He glanced at Rita with a complicated look. “We knew the pope would never stop searching. To confuse them and protect the true Saintess, I adopted you, Rita. The plan was… that in the direst moment, you would act as Roswitha’s substitute and die in her place…”
Rita shuddered violently, lowering her head further, gripping her clothes tightly, knuckles white, voice choked with sobs. “Grandfather… I… I’m sorry… I let you down… In the Sol City dungeon… I was so afraid… afraid I’d never see Miss Eileen again… afraid of dying… I… I told the truth…”
It wasn’t just fear of death that drove her—it was Eileen’s appearance, like a ray of light in the darkness, that made her feel the warmth and desire to live for the first time, making her “clinging to life” and fearful of death.
“There’s no shame in wanting to live.”
Eisenhart sighed deeply, the breath heavy with so many emotions—disappointment in Rita’s betrayal of the plan but more so the familial affection forged over years of close companionship.
His rough hand gently patted Rita’s trembling shoulder. “Enough… You’ve long been my granddaughter. Besides…”
He looked up, his gaze burning fiercely at Eileen. “Miss Eileen, your appearance, the miracles you’ve sparked… have shown me another possibility! One that doesn’t require sacrificing Rita, that can save Visser, and even overthrow the false pope!”
“You want to crown me as the Saintess?” Eileen’s violet eyes sharpened like knives, quickly catching his intent. “To use me, unite those dissatisfied with the pope?”
“Yes.” Eisenhart admitted frankly, tinged with apology. “I wanted to use you as a pawn, put you forward as the banner against the false pope. For this, I even secretly pushed your ‘Saintess’ reputation at the border… But now, I apologize, Miss Eileen.”
“I am truly sorry. We wanted to use you behind the scenes, ignoring your will, pushing you into opposition with the Church…”
Eileen was silent.
She recalled the refugees flooding the border, the atrocities of the Church knights, the countless crosses towering before Windmill Village, Rita’s fearful yet hopeful eyes… all clues weaving together into a chilling truth.
“So, those frenzied witch hunts, the ruthless creation of suffering and terror…” Eileen’s voice was icy, “are all to feed the demon occupying the pope’s body?”
“Exactly.” Eisenhart nodded heavily. “Fear is the abyss’s favorite food. Massive suffering, death, and despair accelerate its recovery and growth. If it completely devours the Saintess’s power within Visser, or completes its ritual… the whole world will plunge irreversibly into the abyss!”
Eileen gasped, finally grasping the core of the massive conspiracy sweeping the kingdom! This was no mere power struggle—it was a darkness threatening the world’s very survival!
At that moment, a Shadow Sword member nearly burst through the door, face pale as death: “Your Grace! Urgent news from the Tower of Judgment! Miss Roswitha… sentenced to death by burning for poisoning a fellow Saintess candidate! Public execution scheduled in three days at the tower’s square! What… what should we do?”
Eisenhart closed his eyes, no surprise on his face—only deep pain and resolve. “I expected this… Heinrich’s demonic lackey will never miss such a perfect chance.”
He stood, straightened his worn robe, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “Gather all hands. Prepare to move out. Even if it’s a moth to the flame, even if the entire force is wiped out, we must rescue Lady Roswitha!”
He turned to Eileen with his last apologies and charge: “Miss Eileen, thank you for hearing me out. The road ahead is the fate of our Shadow Sword. You… take care.”
He lifted the still-weeping Rita, preparing to leave.
“Wait!” Eileen’s voice rang clearly.
Eisenhart and Rita stopped and looked back at her.
Eileen stood, her gaze sweeping Eisenhart, Rita, then Serena and Lyra, who looked at her with unwavering determination.
She took a deep breath, as if making a firm decision, a familiar, slightly defiant smile tugging at her lips:
“I’m going with you.”
That sentence weighed a thousand pounds.
Eisenhart’s eyes blazed with disbelief. “Miss Eileen! Do you know what this means? It means becoming an enemy of the entire Church! Your family…”
“I know.” Eileen cut him off, her tone calm but filled with unshakable strength. “I’ve long hated that rotten, corrupt Church! Now, I finally have a legitimate reason to strike back! As for my family…”
A complex emotion flickered in her eyes, quickly replaced by resolution. “I will handle it.”
She looked to Serena and Lyra. “You…”
“Eileen, no need to ask me. I am your sword. You say it, I do it—that’s enough!” Serena responded without hesitation, her hand on her sword’s hilt.
Besides, Roswitha was also their comrade. As captain, how could she abandon her teammates?
She had long understood that those who do not cherish their companions are worse than useless!
“I will follow you always, Miss!” Lyra’s eyes were steadfast.
Eileen nodded without further words.
Time was pressing! What needed to be done had to be done immediately!
*****
Eileen raced back to her territory, swiftly summoned Captain Ansel and several key retainers.
Without much explanation, she announced: “Effective immediately, I resign as Lord of Ravenhold. Clarette, the territory is temporarily under your charge until my mother chooses a new heir.”
She handed Clarette a letter she had prepared long ago. “Deliver this to my mother. I have severed all ties with the Ravenhold family. From now on, all my actions are personal and bear no relation to the Ravenholds. I alone take full responsibility!”
Clarette took the letter silently, her expression shifting slightly. “Miss, are you prepared to officially break with the Church?”
Eileen nodded silently.
As for Captain Ansel, tears filled his tiger-like eyes as he knelt on one knee. “Miss! Please allow me to accompany you! The territory can…”
“No!” Eileen helped him to his feet with firm resolve. “Captain Ansel, only you can keep order here, stabilize the territory, and protect the people! This is an order! And my final request! Guard our home!”
Looking into Eileen’s resolute eyes, Ansel could only nod deeply and speak in a low voice, “I will obey, Miss… take care of everything…”
Eileen cast one last glance at the land she had poured her heart into building. Her gaze softened momentarily as it swept over the vibrant fields beneath the dusk sky.
She smiled lightly, then without hesitation, vaulted onto her horse with Serena and Lyra, disappearing like dust on the wind.
Clarette watched them vanish, her fingers unconsciously stroking her chin, a calculating gleam lighting her eyes. “An open break, huh… Didn’t expect things to escalate so quickly. Looks like I have to make my move, Eileen…”
“Who told me I just like you?”