Chapter 110: It flew away

From the first day he met Freya, he had a faint feeling that the sword would choose her.

Her mana was pure and powerful, her will firm and unshakable, and in the center of her heart was a secret even the Theocrat couldn’t see through.

A person like that—who else could be the Bearer of the Holy Sword?

“But,” he hesitated.

“She doesn’t want to.”

The Theocrat looked at him.

“Doesn’t want to?”

“She doesn’t want to get involved in all this. Doesn’t want to be some Saintess, doesn’t want to be a Bearer of the Holy Sword. She just wants to—”

Serar paused.

“Just wants to live a quiet life with that little follower of hers.”

The Theocrat was silent.

For a long time.

So long that Serar thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse like wind rustling dead leaves.

“Sometimes, fate doesn’t give you the choice.”

Outside the window, night wind blew, stirring a few fallen leaves.

Serar lowered his head, looking at his hands resting on his knees. Those hands that had once held a sword, unleashed countless spells, were now trembling slightly.

“Lord Priest,” his voice was low.

“What if I told you that white-haired girl—Lyra—has awakened both Light and Shadow Magic?”

The Theocrat’s pupils contracted slightly.

“Are you certain?”

“I saw it with my own eyes. Light and darkness coexist inside her. Not in conflict, not in fusion, but—”

He thought for a moment.

“Symbiosis. Like yin-yang fish, entwining and depending on each other.”

The Theocrat slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked out into the deep night.

Moonlight spilled through gaps in the clouds, turning his white hair silver.

“The Holy Scripture has a record,” he said softly.

“A thousand years ago, the Hero who sealed the Evil God possessed both Light and Darkness. Legend says he was the only one chosen by the gods to bear two opposing powers.”

He turned to look at Serar. “If that child has truly awakened both powers, then she—”

“What is she?”

The Theocrat didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring at the lit window in the distance—Freya’s dormitory. He watched for a long time.

“Serar.”

“Yes.”

“At tomorrow’s test, you must closely watch two people.”

Serar looked up.

“Which two?”

“Freya Christo Dale. And—”

The Theocrat paused.

“That white-haired girl beside her.”

Serar was stunned.

“You mean… Lyra could also be the Bearer of the Holy Sword?”

The Theocrat neither nodded nor shook his head.

He just turned, walked back to his armchair, and slowly sat down.

“It’s not up to us to decide who the Holy Sword chooses. We can only watch.”

He closed his eyes, as if utterly exhausted.

Serar looked at his withered face, wanted to say something, but swallowed it back.

He stood up and headed for the door.

Just as he reached it, the Theocrat’s voice came from behind.

“Serar.”

He stopped.

“Protect them. No matter who is chosen, the other will become a target for everyone.”

Serar was silent for a moment.

“I know.”

The door closed behind him. The Theocrat sat there, eyes closed, unmoving.

Candlelight cast flickering shadows on his face, making his withered features appear alternately bright and dark.

“Light and Darkness,” he murmured to himself.

“Saintess and Hero. What will the outcome be this time?”

On the morning of the test, Freya was dragged out of bed by Anke and Sophie.

“I’m not going.” She pulled the covers over her head, her voice muffled.

“No way!” Sophie yanked the blanket off, hands on her hips, her chest heaving with the motion.

“Everyone in the academy is going today. What kind of look is it if you hide in the dormitory alone?”

Freya sat up, her light purple hair spilling over her shoulders, her same-colored eyes full of reluctance.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” Anke crouched down, her brown eyes filled with confusion.

Freya didn’t answer.

Of course she couldn’t say she had already seen it once in her previous life—

Seen the Holy Sword choose Ross, seen Ross become the Hero, seen Irina standing beside him, smiling warmly and gracefully.

In that life, she hadn’t attended the test because she felt she didn’t need a sword to prove anything.

In this life, she still didn’t.

“Because I don’t want to,” she answered succinctly.

“Well, you have to go.” Sophie pulled her out of bed and pushed her toward the washroom.

“You have fifteen minutes. Get cleaned up and come out. Otherwise, I’ll wash you myself.”

The door closed behind Freya.

She stood there, looking at her helpless expression in the mirror, and sighed.

Fifteen minutes later, Freya walked out of the dormitory building.

Lyra was already waiting downstairs, her red eyes sparkling.

“Boss! You’re finally out!”

She bounced over and grabbed Freya’s arm.

“Anke said you didn’t want to go. Why?”

Freya looked down at her face, full of curiosity and excitement.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

The plaza was packed.

People who had come from all over for the test formed long lines that stretched out of sight.

In the center of the plaza, a massive magic array slowly rotated, radiating golden light.

At the array center, a Holy Sword projection made of light hovered in midair, its tip pointing downward, waiting silently.

The Theocrat stood beside the magic array, white-haired and withered, but his cloudy eyes burned with startling brightness.

He watched the people waiting in line, his lips moving slightly, as if reciting some ancient prayer.

Freya stood at the edge of the crowd, looking at the golden Holy Sword projection. Just like in her previous life—

No, brighter than before, and more unstable.

It trembled slightly, as if urgently searching for something.

“Boss, is that the Holy Sword?”

Lyra stood on tiptoe, the golden light reflected in her red eyes.

“A projection,” Freya corrected.

“The real Holy Sword is still in the Temple.”

“It’s so pretty…”

Freya didn’t answer. Her gaze passed over the crowd and landed in another direction.

Irina stood there, dressed in a light pink dress, her hair loose over her shoulders, looking soft and harmless.

Behind her stood over a dozen students wearing light purple armbands, clustering around her like stars around the moon.

When she saw Freya, the corner of her lips curled up slightly, and she nodded as if greeting.

Freya didn’t respond.

The test began.

One by one, people walked into the magic array. The Holy Sword projection passed over their heads. Some glowed faintly; most showed no reaction at all.

No one could make it stop.

“Next.”

A young boy walked in. The Holy Sword projection passed over him with no reaction.

He walked out, disappointed.

“Next.”

An old man with white hair walked in. The Holy Sword projection still didn’t stop.

“Next.”

One after another, the line grew shorter, but the Holy Sword projection never stopped for anyone.

The crowd began to stir, whispers spreading like a tide.

“Not a single one…”

“Could it be the Bearer of the Holy Sword isn’t among us?”

“Impossible… People came from all over the country…”

The Theocrat stood there, silent.

His cloudy eyes remained fixed on the floating Holy Sword, watching it tremble, as if waiting for something.

Finally, it was Ross’s turn.

He stepped out of the crowd, his golden hair shining in the sunlight.

His face was still a little pale, dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes were no longer the hollow daze from before.

Instead, they held a kind of calm, as if he had undergone something and emerged steadier.

He walked into the magic array. The Holy Sword projection passed over his head.

A light glowed—

Brighter than anyone before, but still it didn’t stop.

It flew past his head and continued onward.

Ross stood there, looking at the departing Holy Sword, silent for a long time.

Then he turned and walked out of the magic array.

As he passed Freya, his steps paused.

“You haven’t tried yet,” he said softly.

Freya didn’t answer. Ross didn’t say anything more, just walked away.

“Next.” The Theocrat’s voice was hoarse and weary.

Irina stepped out from the crowd.

She walked very slowly, her dress brushing the ground without a sound.

She entered the magic array, looked up at the floating Holy Sword.

The Holy Sword projection passed over her head—

It didn’t glow, didn’t stop, showed no reaction at all.

As if she didn’t exist.

Irina’s face changed slightly.

She stood there, unmoving.

The Holy Sword projection had already flown away, but she still stood there, as if unable to believe the result.

“Next.” The Theocrat’s voice rang out again.

Irina lowered her head, turned, and walked out of the magic array.

As she passed Freya, she stopped.

“Do you think you’ll be chosen?”

Her voice was so soft only the two of them could hear.

“You’re wrong. The Holy Sword won’t choose you, just like it didn’t choose me.”

Freya said nothing. Irina left.

“Boss.” Lyra tugged at Freya’s sleeve.

“It’s your turn.”

Freya stood there, not moving.

She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to stand under that sword. Didn’t want to be judged by it.

She didn’t need a sword to tell her who she was.

“Go on.” Anke gave her a push from behind.

“Yeah, go on.” Sophie chimed in.

“Since you’re here, it won’t hurt to try.”

They pushed Freya into the magic array.

She stood at the array center, looked up at the floating Holy Sword.

It trembled above her head, as if hesitating, as if confirming.

Then—it moved.

Not passing over, but stopping.

It stopped above her head, golden light pouring down, enveloping her in a dazzling halo.

The light grew brighter and stronger, finally forming a pillar of light that shot straight into the sky.

The entire plaza fell dead silent.

Everyone stared in that direction, at the girl with light purple hair, at the Holy Sword resonating above her head.

The Theocrat jerked his head up, his cloudy eyes bursting with astonishing light.

“It’s her…” His voice was hoarse and trembling.

“She is the chosen one.”

Freya stood there, unmoving.

She looked at the Holy Sword above her head, watched it spin, glow, and resonate.