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SpecialCharactersAndSymbols!@#$%^&*()_-+=[]{}|;:\"'<>,.?/
Freya jolted awake from a nightmare.
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Her heart—it felt like a hand had seized it, squeezing so tightly that the pain made her curl up entirely.
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It wasn’t ordinary pain. It was something deeper, something tearing and struggling deep inside her heart, a searing agony that wanted to burst out of her body.
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“Boss?” Lyra’s voice came from the floor mat, tinged with just-woken drowsiness and a hint of tension.
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“What’s wrong?”
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Freya didn’t answer.
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She just lay curled up, both hands pressed hard against her chest, fingernails digging into the fabric, knuckles white.
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She could feel the Mana Heart Crystal beating—
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Not following her own heartbeat, but a different rhythm, faster and more urgent.
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Like it was crying for help, or like a warning.
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“Boss!” Lyra scrambled up, rushed to the bed, and grabbed her hand. That hand was frighteningly cold, still trembling.
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“I’ll go get Grandfather! I’ll call a doctor!”
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“No…” Freya pulled her back.
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“Don’t… I’m fine…”
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“Your face is so pale! You’re sweating!” Lyra’s voice trembled.
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“Where does it hurt? Your heart? Boss, what’s wrong with your heart?”
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Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
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The pain was still there, but not as intense as before.
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The Heart Crystal’s beating gradually slowed, syncing back with her own pulse.
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Like a storm that had just passed—the sea was still churning, but beginning to calm.
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“It’s okay now.” She opened her eyes, looking at Lyra’s red eyes full of fear and worry.
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“Really.”
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“You’re lying.” Lyra’s tears fell.
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“You were in so much pain just now. How could you be okay?”
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Freya looked at her, at her face covered in tears, at the hand tightly gripping hers.
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She reached out and gently wiped the tears from Lyra’s face.
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“Maybe it was just a nightmare.”
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Lyra shook her head.
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“It wasn’t a nightmare. It was something else. I could feel it.”
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Freya was silent for a moment.
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She could feel it too—
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Not from inside, but from somewhere very far away.
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Something had touched the Holy Sword, angered the Holy Sword, and then been struck by the Holy Sword.
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The aftershock of that power had crossed mountains and rivers, striking the Mana Heart Crystal deep in her heart.
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That wasn’t her pain. It was the Heart Crystal’s pain.
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“Lyra.”
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“Yeah.”
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“Thank you.”
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Lyra paused for a moment.
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Freya saw the tips of her ears turn red.
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“Boss doesn’t need to thank me. It’s what I should do.”
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Freya stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
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The night wind rushed in, carrying the chill of deep autumn.
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She gazed at the heavy darkness in the distance, toward the direction of the Imperial Palace.
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Something had happened to the Holy Sword.
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She knew.
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The pain from the Mana Heart Crystal told her that someone had made a move on the Holy Sword.
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Who that person was, she was almost certain.
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“Irina.”
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She whispered the name softly.
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The night wind scattered her voice, dissipating it into the darkness.
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No one heard it.
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But in the distance, something seemed to respond—a low, distant hum, like the Holy Sword sighing.
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After that, Freya leaned against the bedside to rest, eyes closed, her face still pale.
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Lyra sat beside her, holding her hand tightly, her red eyes fixed unblinkingly on Freya’s face, as if afraid that if she let go, Freya would disappear.
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“Boss, does it still hurt?” Lyra’s voice was very soft.
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“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
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Freya didn’t open her eyes.
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“You’re lying. Your brow is still furrowed.”
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Freya was silent for a moment, then opened her eyes to look at Lyra’s worried red eyes.
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“Really, it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m just still thinking about things.”
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Lyra blinked.
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“Thinking about what?”
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“About the Holy Sword.” Freya sat up straight and looked out at the night.
SpecialCharactersAndSymbols!@#$%^&*()_-+=[]{}|;:\"'<>,.?/
“Someone made a move on it.”
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Lyra frowned.
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“Is it that Crybaby?”
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“I don’t know.” Freya withdrew her gaze.
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“But I can’t think of anyone else besides her.”
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Lyra’s fists clenched.
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“Why would she touch the Holy Sword? She’s not the Bearer of the Holy Sword. Touching it wouldn’t do her any good.”
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Freya didn’t answer.
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She thought about her previous life, about Irina standing beside Ross, the look of greed in her eyes when the Holy Sword glowed in his hand.
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What she had always wanted was never the Holy Sword itself, but the power, status, and glory it brought.
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In this life, Ross was no longer her pawn, and the Holy Sword hadn’t chosen her either.
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She was desperate, desperate enough to take a reckless risk.
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“Boss, do you think the Holy Sword will be okay?”
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“No.” Freya’s voice was calm.
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“The Holy Sword isn’t that easy to damage. If she touched it, she would only get hurt.”
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Lyra was taken aback.
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“Then why did you feel pain?”
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Freya fell silent.
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She wanted to know the answer too.
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The Holy Sword was touched, yet she, far away at the Academy, felt it as if she were there.
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That Mana Heart Crystal beat inside her heart like a drum, struck by a vibration from afar.
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What other secrets did the thing her mother left her still hold?
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In the early morning, when Freya and Lyra went downstairs, the morning mist hadn’t yet dispersed.
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The Academy’s gate loomed faintly in the fog, like a castle floating above the clouds.
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They went straight to the Temple.
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The Priest was already waiting there.
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The old man stood before the Holy Sword Platform, white-haired and haggard, but his murky eyes were startlingly bright.
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Hearing footsteps, he didn’t turn around.
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“You felt it?”
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His voice was hoarse but calm.
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Freya stopped behind him.
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“Yes.”
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“Someone broke into the Temple last night and tried to touch the Holy Sword.” The Priest turned to face her.
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“Struck by the Holy Sword’s light. There was blood on the floor. The person escaped.”
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Freya looked at the sword on the Holy Sword Platform.
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It floated there quietly, its light dimming and brightening in a rhythm, like breathing.
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No trace of having been touched.
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“It’s fine.” The Priest followed her gaze.
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“The Holy Sword isn’t so easily tainted. But that person—” He paused.
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“She carries something unclean.”
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“Black Mist?” Lyra interjected.
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The Priest looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his murky eyes.
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“You know?”
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Lyra shook her head.
SpecialCharactersAndSymbols!@#$%^&*()_-+=[]{}|;:\"'<>,.?/
“I dreamed of it. A mass of black mist said I was very suitable to be its heir. I refused, so it went looking for someone else.”
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The Priest was silent.
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He looked at Lyra for a long time, then spoke slowly.
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“That black mist is the remnant of the Evil God. A thousand years ago, the Holy Sword cleaved the Evil God’s body and sealed his soul. But his remnant escaped and has been wandering in the darkness, searching for a suitable host.”
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Lyra’s face paled slightly.
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“So, it approached me because—”
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“Because you have both Light and Dark mana inside you. You are its ideal vessel.”
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The Priest’s voice was very soft.
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“But you rejected it. So it could only settle for a second-rate choice.”
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Freya’s fingers slowly tightened.
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“Irina.”
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The Priest nodded.
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“She now carries the remnant of the Evil God within her. That power will constantly erode her, devouring her mana, her life force, until she becomes an empty shell. But if she can find enough power to feed it before being completely consumed—”
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“It will revive?”
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Freya finished his sentence.
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“Not completely revive. But enough to loosen the Holy Sword’s seal again.” The Priest looked at her.
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“So, you must make a choice as soon as possible.”
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Freya was silent for a long time.
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“I understand.”
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She turned and walked toward the door.
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Lyra followed behind her.
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When she reached the doorway, she stopped and didn’t turn around.
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“Lord Priest.”
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“Yes.”
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“What if I don’t choose anyone and pick up the Holy Sword myself?”
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The Priest was stunned.
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He stood there, looking at her light purple back, for a long time.
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“The Holy Scripture has no record of such a situation. In theory, the Sword Holder can become the Bearer of the Holy Sword themselves. But—”
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“But what?”
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“But the Holy Sword’s power is too great. Without sufficient willpower, one will be devoured by it.”
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Freya didn’t ask any more.
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She pushed the door open and walked out.
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The morning mist gradually dissipated, and sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the entire Academy in golden splendor.
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Freya walked on the stone path, Lyra beside her, red eyes glancing at her from time to time.
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“Boss, do you want to become the Bearer of the Holy Sword yourself?”
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“I don’t know.”
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“Then why did you ask that just now?”
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Freya stopped, looking at the sky in the distance, shining brightly under the sun.
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“Because I don’t want others to decide my destiny.”
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Lyra blinked.
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“Then I’ll help you.”
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Freya looked down at her earnest face.
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“How will you help?”
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“I don’t know.” Lyra grinned, revealing her little wolf fang.
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“But I will definitely help you.”
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Far away, in the Temple, the Priest was still standing before the Holy Sword Platform. He looked at the Holy Sword floating quietly, a complex expression appearing on his aged face.
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“Picking up the Holy Sword yourself,” he murmured.
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“You and your mother are truly identical.”
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On the first day back at the Academy, Freya sensed something off.
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It was a hard-to-describe feeling, like a thin, invisible mist had filled the air—not thick, but pervasive.
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Walking along the path, members of the Mutual Aid Society wearing light purple armbands passed her, steps neat, posture proper, eyes straight ahead.
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They looked no different from usual, but Freya noticed their eyes—
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Those eyes had no light.
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Not empty, not blank, but a deeper, more hidden emptiness.
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As if someone had taken part of their soul, leaving only walking corpses.
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“Boss, don’t you think those people are weird?”
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Lyra leaned in, her red eyes fixed on several Mutual Aid Society members walking away.
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“Weird how?”
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“I can’t put it into words. It’s just…” Lyra tilted her head, thinking.
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“Like those animals in the mountains that hunters have drugged. They look alive, but they’re no longer their own.”
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Freya didn’t answer.
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Her gaze lingered on those backs for a long time.
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In the canteen, Anke and Sophie were already waiting. Seeing Freya come in, Anke waved vigorously.
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“Freya! Over here!”
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Freya and Lyra carried their trays over and sat down across from them.
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“Your face looks terrible.” Sophie frowned.
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“Did Grandfather’s place not feed you enough?”
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