The brightly lit room, in stark contrast to the midnight darkness outside, was illuminated by magical lights hanging from above.
It was as if the sun still lingered here, despite the late hour.
Seated at a desk, a man meticulously examined a stack of papers.
“Let’s see… Situation explained, support requested, details on key individuals included… Perfect. Ready to send,” Artorius muttered with a satisfied smile as he set his quill down.
“Still… the End Cult…” he mused aloud, leaning back in his chair.
The End Cult—the primary subject of his report—was a mysterious organization. To summarize:
- Their true identity was unknown.
- They were large in scale.
- They were staunchly opposed to the Origin Church.
- They wielded a strange, unidentified power.
“How did they manage to use that power?”
Artorius recalled one of their members, a man who had introduced himself as Wolf.
“Ah, the prayer is almost finished, isn’t it? Well, our sparring ends here! I’ve accomplished my purpose, so I’ll be off now. I hope we meet again!”
Wolf had appeared as though to interfere with their mission, yet he didn’t disrupt Bliss’s prayer. Instead, he fought Artorius before vanishing the moment the prayer concluded.
It was baffling. His actions seemed more focused on engaging in combat than fulfilling any clear objective.
But what troubled Artorius most was the power Wolf wielded.
It wasn’t demonic energy. Nor was it divine power. It was something else entirely—something Artorius had encountered before.
And that power was dangerous.
It wasn’t something that should exist, nor something that should be wielded by anyone.
“Is this the price of the sins of reversing the heavens finally catching up to us?”
Artorius muttered grimly, exhaling a weary sigh. His thoughts shifted to another individual who had demonstrated an extraordinary power: Ruina, the Saint of Prophecy.
The most accurate prophet in history, a master of swordsmanship and magic, and…
“She uses both demonic energy and divine power…”
Artorius’s mind lingered on the moment Ruina wielded the holy sword.
“The sword responded to her, without a doubt.”
Though he wished to deny it to avoid complications, the undeniable burst of divine power from the sword left no room for doubt.
Everyone present at the time had been stunned—awed by the sight of someone other than the Hero wielding the holy sword.
While others focused on that singular anomaly, Artorius found himself questioning something else entirely:
How could she wield both demonic energy and divine power simultaneously?
That shouldn’t be possible. The two forces naturally repelled each other.
And then there was the black light she had summoned during the fight.
It was an unsettling force, born from the fusion of demonic energy and divine power—something that felt inherently wrong, as though it shouldn’t exist.
Yet, for some reason, it seemed vaguely familiar to Artorius.
“Could it be…?”
His expression stiffened as a thought surfaced, only to shake his head moments later.
“No, it can’t be. Her right eye is black.”
He dismissed the notion, though a sense of unease lingered.
“Still, it’s strange. A normal body shouldn’t be able to withstand that.”
The backlash from hosting both demonic energy and divine power in one body should have been fatal. Yet Ruina showed no signs of strain or aftereffects.
According to everything he knew, such a feat should be impossible.
Well… almost impossible. There was one exception—an extraordinarily rare occurrence he had witnessed before.
As he drummed his fingers on the desk, Artorius debated whether to escalate the matter to his superiors. Reporting everything about Ruina would undoubtedly shake the Papacy to its core.
For now, he decided against it. He had personal questions to ask Ruina first.
Finally, Artorius set his quill to the paper again, jotting down additional notes.
After a moment of contemplation, he punctuated the final sentence with a resolute period.
“Done.”
He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples.
***
Meanwhile…
“To think such a curse could befall her…”
Bliss murmured somberly as she opened the door to a simple room.
The small creak of the hinges gave way to a humble interior: a single bed, a window offering a view of the night sky, and an otherwise unremarkable space.
Though plain, the room felt different tonight—Ruina, the Saint, had stayed here until just that morning.
With heavy steps, Bliss walked to the bed and sat down, a weary expression on her face.
“This morning, you were still lying here… You pushed yourself too far for us.”
She gently ran her hand over the bedspread, her voice barely a whisper.
In the brightly lit room, Bliss sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on the soft fabric. Her voice, laced with sorrow, broke the silence.
“It didn’t make sense at first… Why someone like you—so devout, so strong, so extraordinary—didn’t radiate divine power.”
Her hand stilled on the bedspread, and she clenched it tightly, her voice rising with restrained fury.
“But it wasn’t that it wasn’t there. It was that I couldn’t feel it! That wretched curse! That vile scheme to keep us from recognizing you!”
A curse.
She had never imagined that such a thing could cling to someone like Ruina. High-ranking clergy were typically impervious to curses.
And yet, here was proof of the terrible consequences it could bring.
“You must have been forced to hide it… Unable to speak, unable to tell anyone about the curse gnawing at you, silencing your voice, corrupting your sacred essence bit by bit.”
Bliss’s voice trembled as she imagined the silent suffering.
“Ah, how difficult it must have been for you. How terrifying, as the curse tainted your holy strength more with each passing day.”
Just the thought of enduring such torment made Bliss’s chest tighten, her body quaking.
“You must have wanted to flee. Showing that side of yourself to others would have only invited judgment and punishment. Even during interrogation, you couldn’t have confessed the truth.”
The curse wouldn’t allow it. Without Olivia’s perceptive insight, they would never have realized the truth.
She shuddered to think what might have happened if Ruina had revealed her condition to someone else—someone less understanding.
“If that had happened… they would have torn you apart. Criticized and scorned you mercilessly, despite all you’ve sacrificed and achieved for us.”
Bliss lowered her head, shame washing over her.
Even she had been no different at the start. She had envied, doubted, and judged Ruina, always seeking an opportunity to undermine her.
If a high-ranking priest like herself could fall into such pettiness, how much worse would others be?
Even within the Papacy, there were countless who would leap at the chance to condemn Ruina.
“But despite those risks, you still chose to fight alongside us. Even though you have someone to protect.”
Bliss’s mind turned to Reina, the child who bore the same white hair as Ruina—a life Ruina cherished above all else.
It was astonishing. Despite the danger this mission posed to Reina, Ruina had prioritized the greater good.
Sacrifice.
That’s what it was.
Ruina had sacrificed so much for them.
She could have pursued a life of peace and happiness, but she had turned away from it.
War had already stolen half of her being, leaving indelible scars. And yet, she had chosen to face it again, risking further injury.
All for the sake of others.
Bliss’s heart swelled with admiration.
“Truly, you are…”
Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, Bliss lay down on the bed, burying her face in her hands. Tears pricked at her eyes.
It was tragic.
If things continued as they were, Ruina would never receive the rewards she deserved for her selflessness.
Worse, she might even suffer for it.
Bliss’s resolve hardened.
Reaching into her robe, she pulled out thin, white strands that glowed faintly in the moonlight.
“I’ve gathered quite a lot,” she murmured, a small smile touching her lips as she cupped the strands in her hands and brought them to her chest.
Closing her eyes, she whispered with firm determination,
“This time, I will save you.”
Her words carried the weight of an unyielding promise, as if vowing before a divine presence.
“No matter the cost.”
In the moonlight streaming through the window, the white strands shimmered with a gentle glow.