Chapter 85: Dreams of past lives come to an end

Lyra’s words caught in her throat.

She watched Freya’s retreating back, that straight, light purple figure standing out sharply against the sunset.

Freya turned around.

She looked at Irina.

Those light purple eyes held no ripples.

No anger.

No panic.

No embarrassment at being publicly exposed.

Only a kind of transparent calm.

“Classmate Irina.”

Her voice was soft.

Yet it clearly reached the ears of everyone who was listening.

“What did you just say?”

Irina was momentarily stunned.

“I… I said His Highness the Crown Prince…”

“Not that part.”

Freya interrupted her.

“The part before that.”

Irina’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.

“…I said you went out for lunch with classmate Serar…”

“So what?”

Freya looked at her.

“Who I have lunch with, what does that have to do with His Highness the Crown Prince?”

Irina opened her mouth.

Freya continued, her tone as calm as if she were discussing the weather.

“His Highness the Crown Prince cares about me—

That is his business.”

She paused.

“Who I have lunch with—

That is my business.”

The surrounding whispers suddenly died down.

Everyone looked at the girl with light purple long hair.

Watched her standing in the sunset, posture straight, expression calm.

“Don’t you agree, Classmate Irina?”

Irina’s expression changed slightly.

That gentle smile froze on her face.

Lyra stood at Freya’s side, her red eyes filled with pride.

She looked at the onlookers, at their changing expressions, at Irina’s frozen face.

Then she grinned.

That little fang gleamed in the sunset.

“Boss is right!”

Her voice was clear and loud.

“What does the Crown Prince matter?

Who he cares about is his business, what does it have to do with Boss!”

As she spoke, she grabbed Freya’s arm.

Nuzzling against it.

“Boss is mine alone!”

The surroundings fell into dead silence.

Then—

Someone couldn’t hold back a “pfft” laugh.

The laughter seemed contagious, quickly spreading.

“This girl’s words are really something…”

“What does the Crown Prince matter…

Hahahaha…”

“She’s so cute, like a little puppy guarding its food…”

That laughter diluted the earlier tense atmosphere.

The onlookers gradually dispersed, still laughing as they walked away.

Irina stood in place, the smile completely gone from her face.

She watched the two retreating figures, complex emotions churning in her pink eyes.

Anger.

Frustration.

And a hint of—

Deep apprehension.

She had lost again.

The plan was so perfect, every word was just right, the surrounding reactions were all within expectations—

Yet Freya had defused everything with just a few sentences.

And that white-haired girl…

Irina’s fingers slowly tightened.

Digging into her palm.

In the distance, Freya and Lyra walked side by side.

Lyra hugged her arm, nuzzling again and again.

“Boss, was what I said just now right?”

“…Mhm.”

“That crybaby’s face turned green!

Did you see it?”

“…Mhm.”

“She must be furious! Hahahaha!”

Freya didn’t speak.

But the curve of her lips was a little deeper than usual.

At the foot of the dormitory building, dusk gathered.

Freya stopped.

She looked at Lyra.

At that silly grinning face, at those sparkling red eyes, at that little fang completely exposed because of her happiness.

“Lyra.”

“Hm?”

“In the future—”

Freya paused.

“You don’t need to care who the Crown Prince is.”

Lyra blinked.

“What does he matter?”

Freya was silent for a moment.

Then she nodded gently.

“…Mhm.”

Lyra smiled until her eyes curved into two crescents.

“Boss is the best!”

She hugged Freya tightly.

This time, Freya didn’t pull away.

The night deepened.

The dormitory was quiet, only the occasional chirping of insects from outside the window, and Lyra’s even breathing from her bedding on the floor.

Freya lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Too many things had happened today.

Serar’s words, Irina’s provocation, the whispers of the onlookers…

She closed her eyes.

Her thoughts gradually blurred.

A field of white appeared before her eyes.

Not ordinary white, but that kind of glaring, cold, suffocating white.

Freya found herself standing in a great hall.

No, not a hall.

An altar.

A towering dome, pristine stone pillars, and at the far end, a massive statue—

The statue of the Goddess of Light, Tifeiluna, holding the Holy Sword, looking down upon all living beings.

In the center of the altar, lay a person.

Light purple hair spilled across the floor, light purple eyes wide open, staring emptily at the dome.

It was herself.

Freya looked down at herself lying on the ground.

There was a huge bloody hole in her chest.

Where her heart should be, it was empty.

The Mana Heart Crystal—

Had been taken.

“It worked.”

A voice came from behind.

Freya turned around.

Ross stood at the foot of the altar, his golden hair shimmering in the candlelight, an expression on his face she had never seen before—

Not guilt, not sorrow, but a kind of relieved, almost fanatical excitement.

In his hand, he held a sword.

The Holy Sword.

The blade was emitting a soft glow, as if it had finally found its master.

“Your Highness is amazing!”

Another voice rang out.

Irina walked out from the shadows.

Her posture was completely different from usual—

No longer fragile, no longer humble, but with head held high, a smug smile playing on her lips.

Her chest was emitting a faint silver-white glow.

That was—

Freya’s Mana Heart Crystal.

“How does it feel?”

Ross asked.

Irina raised her hand, a cluster of silver-white light gathering in her palm, spinning, rising.

That light was pure and powerful, carrying a biting chill—

It was Freya’s power.

“Very good.”

Irina smiled.

“Even better than I imagined.”

She walked to the edge of the altar, looking down at the corpse on the ground.

Those pink eyes held not a trace of guilt.

Only satisfaction.

“Thank you—”

She said softly.

“Classmate Freya.”

“Without you, how could I ever become the Saintess?”

The scene shifted.

The same altar, the same statue.

But this time, standing on the altar was Irina.

She wore a pure white robe, the Mana Heart Crystal on her chest emitting a soft glow, enveloping her entire person in a halo of holy light.

Below, countless people knelt prostrate on the ground.

“Saintess!”

“Your Highness the Saintess!”

Those shouts were deafening, filled with fanatical worship.

Irina bowed her head slightly, the smile at her lips just right—

Humble, gentle, with a hint of shyness.

“I only did what I should.”

Her voice drifted down softly.

“It was the goddess who chose me.”

The crowd grew even more fanatical.

Freya stood in the corner, watching all this.

She saw those who had once pointed fingers at her, now gazing at Irina with worshipful eyes.

She saw those commoner students who had once kept their distance from her, now rushing towards Irina, just to touch the hem of her robe.

She also saw—

The Queen standing at the front of the crowd, a satisfied smile on her face.

That smile held pride, relief, and a hint of something deep and unfathomable that Freya recognized.

The scene shifted again.

A battlefield.

The sky was torn in two, one side light, the other dark.

Countless magical beasts poured out from the rift, roaring as they charged towards the humans.

And in the center of the battlefield, two figures stood side by side.

Ross held the Holy Sword, his golden hair whipping wildly in the gale.

His face held no fear, only a firm, almost holy radiance.

Irina stood at his side, silver-white light pouring from her chest, transforming into a massive pillar of light that shot straight into the sky.

“In the name of the Saintess—”

Her voice resounded through heaven and earth.

“In the name of the Holy Sword—”

Ross raised the sword.

Their powers merged, becoming a light more dazzling than the sun, slashing towards that dark rift.

From within the rift came a shrill, piercing roar.

That was the voice of the evil god.

The light exploded.

Everything turned white.

When the white light faded, the battlefield had returned to calm.

The rift was gone.

The magical beasts were gone.

Only Ross and Irina remained, standing side by side on the scorched earth.

The Holy Sword trembled gently in Ross’s hand, as if cheering for a completed mission.

The Mana Heart Crystal on Irina’s chest still emitted a soft glow.

People surged in from all directions.

“We won!”

“They won!”

“Holy Sword Knight! Saintess!”

The cheers shook the sky.

Ross and Irina smiled at each other.

At that moment, they were the heroes of the entire continent.

The scene shifted one last time.

The Imperial Palace.

In a resplendent, golden hall, a grand wedding was taking place.

Ross wore magnificent formal attire, his golden hair meticulously combed.

A smile was on his face, a genuine, happy smile.

Irina stood at his side, wearing a pure white wedding dress, her pink hair styled into an elegant updo adorned with delicate jewels.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed, that ever-perfect smile playing on her lips.

The Queen’s gaze rested on her, full of satisfaction.

The Emperor sat on the throne, his expression complex, but he finally nodded as well.

The Theocrat declared them husband and wife.

Thunderous applause erupted.

Irina turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Over those faces that worshiped her, over those eyes that blessed her.

Then, her gaze seemed to pierce through something, landing in a corner.

Landing where Freya was.

Those pink eyes were filled with laughter.

That smile was light, faint.

Yet clearer than any words—

“I won.”

Freya’s eyes snapped open.

Ceiling.

Dim light.

Familiar dormitory.

Her heart was pounding violently, as if trying to burst from her chest.

She raised a hand, pressing it against her chest.

There, her heart was beating powerfully.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

She was still alive.

The Mana Heart Crystal was still there.

She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.

That dream…

No, that wasn’t a dream.

That was her previous life.

That was what happened after she died.

So that’s how it was.

So after she died, Irina became the Saintess.

So after she died, Ross became the Holy Sword Knight.

So they used her power to become heroes, chosen ones of the gods, beings revered by thousands.