Chapter 83: Is she a saint?

Her fingers tightened slightly.

Sweet Home Restaurant was located in the middle of the commercial street. It was a two-story building with a warm beige exterior wall and blooming flowers on the windowsills.

The shop’s name was written in a cursive font on the sign by the door, next to a drawing of a cute candy.

Freya pushed the door open.

A wave of aroma, a mix of food and coffee, wafted towards her.

The interior was decorated warmly, with wooden tables and chairs, soft yellow lighting, and a few landscape paintings hanging on the walls.

A few scattered tables were occupied by customers chatting in low voices.

A young woman wearing a white apron approached.

She looked to be in her twenties, with a kind and natural smile. Her chestnut-brown hair was tied in a low ponytail, and she had a few playful freckles on her cheeks.

“Hello, welcome!”

Her voice was clear and pleasant.

“Do you have a reservation?”

Freya was about to speak.

Suddenly, a familiar voice came from upstairs.

“Nika! My guests!”

Both women looked up.

Serar stood at the top of the stairs, waving at them.

He had changed his clothes today—

A light gray robe with a silver-white belt tied at the waist. His ice-blue hair was neatly tied back.

His face…

That face still bore the marks of bruising.

A dark circle surrounded his left eye, a scab had formed on the cut at the corner of his mouth, and there was a noticeable red swelling on his temple.

But he was smiling brightly.

“Come up, come up! Second floor!”

The waitress named Nika looked at Serar upstairs, then back at Freya, her smile gaining a hint of understanding.

“So you’re Serar’s guest.”

She stepped aside slightly and made a gesture of invitation.

“Please, follow me.”

She led Freya and Lyra upstairs.

The second floor was quieter than the first, with only a few private rooms.

Nika walked to the innermost one and gently pushed open the carved wooden door.

“Please come in.”

Inside was a delicate private room. It wasn’t large, but it was thoughtfully arranged.

A square table was placed by the window, covered with a light blue tablecloth. Three sets of cutlery were already laid out.

A small potted plant sat on the windowsill, its vibrant green color glowing in the sunlight.

Serar stood by the window, looking at them with a smile.

“Welcome, welcome!”

He walked over and eagerly pulled out two chairs.

“Freya, Lyra, please, have a seat!”

Freya glanced at him.

Then she walked in and sat down in the chair he had pulled out.

Lyra sat down next to her, her red eyes fixed on Serar the entire time, like a wary little beast.

Serar seemed completely indifferent to her gaze. He sat down opposite them with a beaming smile.

“Nika, you can start serving the food!”

Nika nodded, stepped out, and gently closed the door.

The room fell quiet.

Sunlight streamed through the window, spreading a warm patch of light on the floor.

Serar placed his folded hands on the table, smiling as he looked at Freya.

His gaze was intense.

Intense enough to feel a bit uncomfortable.

Lyra’s brow furrowed.

“What are you looking at?”

Serar blinked, his smile unchanged.

“Looking at you.”

“What’s there to look at?”

“You’re nice to look at.”

Lyra was momentarily speechless.

She looked at Freya, her eyes clearly saying, ‘Can I hit him?’

Freya didn’t look at her.

She was only looking at Serar.

Looking into those deep blue eyes.

“Speak.”

Her voice was very calm.

“What exactly did the Winter Oracle say?”

Serar picked up his teacup and took a small sip.

The tea was warm, steam curling up, blurring the expression on his face.

Then he put down the cup and raised his head.

All the frivolity and playfulness had vanished from those deep blue eyes, leaving only a heavy, solemn weight, as if bearing a tremendous burden.

“Evil God’s Awakening.”

Four words.

Very light.

Yet they fell like four massive stones into the calm lake of Freya’s heart.

Her pupils contracted sharply.

In the next second, her hand had already reached for her waist—

A magic wand slid into her palm, a flash of silvery-white light.

A transparent barrier rapidly expanded from her, enveloping the entire private room.

Soundproofing Barrier, Anti-Snooping Barrier, and a layer of her most proficient Ice Crystal Barrier. Triple protection, completed in an instant.

The bustle of the street market outside the window vanished.

The faint sounds of conversation from downstairs vanished.

It was as if the whole world had shrunk to just the three people in this room.

Freya didn’t notice that the moment she deployed the barriers, Lyra’s expression changed slightly.

Something flickered in those red eyes.

Like nervousness.

Or perhaps—

Fear.

But Freya didn’t see it.

Her full attention was focused on the person opposite her who had uttered those four words.

“What kind of joke is this?”

Her voice was low, but cold as an arctic gale.

“The Evil God Sailesi was long ago cleaved in two by the God of War, Lukamoli.”

“The Holy Sword is still enshrined in the temple, guarded day and night by the Theocrats.”

“You say the Evil God is awakening—”

She paused.

“That’s impossible.”

Serar didn’t refute her.

He just looked at her, his deep blue eyes holding something she couldn’t decipher.

“The world believes Sailesi is dead.”

His voice was calm, as calm as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

“But that’s not what the true historical records say.”

Freya’s fingers tightened slightly.

Serar continued.

“In that battle, the Light Goddess Tifeiluna and the God of War Lukamoli did indeed cleave the Evil God in two.”

“But—”

He paused.

“The Evil God’s vitality was far more tenacious than the world imagined.”

Freya remained silent.

Serar’s gaze rested on her face as he spoke, word by word.

“He did not die then.”

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

“The Light Goddess and the God of War used all their strength, but could only seal his remains.”

“The Holy Sword is not a trophy, but—”

He paused again.

“—part of the seal.”

Freya’s breath hitched slightly.

“One day—”

Serar’s voice was low, as if coming from a great distance.

“—the Evil God will awaken again.”

Silence.

A long silence.

Freya leaned back in her chair, complex emotions swirling in her light purple eyes.

A long time passed before she spoke.

“So what?”

Her voice had regained its calm, but Serar could hear the undercurrents beneath that calm.

“The royal family should know about this. The Theocrats should know about this.”

She looked at him.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Serar didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at her.

Something was churning in those deep blue eyes.

Then, he spoke.

“At your heart—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Because in the next second, Freya moved.

Fast.

So fast it was almost impossible to see.

By the time Serar reacted, Freya was already standing on the table, looking down at him from above.

Her cool, aloof face was now inches from his, her light purple eyes swirling with a chilling killing intent.

Her magic wand was pressed against his throat.

At the tip of the wand, lightning was gathering.

The light was a piercing blue, crackling, casting an eerie blue glow on her light purple hair.

“You—”

Her voice was very soft.

Soft as a snowflake landing on water.

But there was no warmth in her eyes.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

Serar didn’t move.

He didn’t even try to pull back.

He just looked up at the face so close to his.

Looked into those light purple eyes swirling with killing intent.

Looked at the wand that could take his life at any moment.

Then, he smiled.

The smile was faint.

Almost imperceptible.

But his eyes were brighter than ever.

“Just as I thought.”

He said softly.

Freya looked at Serar’s face, which still wore a smile, and her frown deepened.

But the lightning at the tip of her wand did not vanish.

“You still dare to smile?”

Her voice was as cold as an arctic gale.

Serar’s smile deepened slightly.

“Because you’re still waiting for me to finish my sentence.”

He looked up, his posture still that of someone forced to raise their hands in surrender, but there was no fear in those deep blue eyes.

Only a kind of certainty.

“You’re the type who won’t rest until you know the truth.”

Freya was silent for a moment.

Then, the lightning at the tip of her wand slowly dissipated.

She withdrew her wand and stepped down from the table.

Walking back to her seat, she raised a hand. A simple cleaning magic swept over the tabletop—

The footprints she had left vanished without a trace.

She sat down.

Her posture was elegant, her expression calm.

As if the person who had just erupted with such violent killing intent a moment ago was not her at all.

Serar slowly lowered his raised hands and rubbed his slightly sore shoulders.

He looked at Freya, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes.

“Relax, relax.”

He said, his voice regaining its earlier lightness.

“The matter of the abnormality at your heart is known only to me and the Oracle.”

“The rest of the Winter Order—”

“including my father—”

“don’t know.”

Freya looked at him.

Those ice-blue eyes held no ripples of emotion.

“So?”

Serar picked up his teacup and took another sip.

This time, he drank slowly.

As if organizing his words.

Or as if savoring this moment of peace.

Freya didn’t rush him.

She simply waited quietly.

The teacup was set down.

Serar raised his head.

His expression became serious once more.

“The Oracle did not foresee exactly what is at your heart.”

He said.

“But—”

He paused.

“She foresaw one thing.”

Freya really didn’t like this way of speaking of his.

Halting.

Hesitant.

As if deliberately trying to keep her in suspense.

Her fingers tightened slightly.

“What?”

Serar looked at her.

Those deep blue eyes were now filled with a serious light.

“That is—”

He said, word by word.

“You, who possess this abnormality, should be the ‘Saintess’ chosen by the gods.”

Freya’s eyelashes trembled slightly.

Serar continued.

“You possess the ability to select the Holy Sword Wielder who can seal the Evil God once more.”

The room fell silent.

Very silent.

So silent they could hear the faint, distant sounds of the street market outside the window—

the Soundproofing Barrier was still active, but the sounds seemed to come from another world.

Freya sat there, motionless.