Golden eyes lowered, gazing at the magic crystal floating before her.
The fallen angel knelt on one knee, black wings folded behind her.
In the secret chamber deep within the ruins, the air felt frozen.
“Master.”
As her cold voice fell, the crystal suddenly lit up with a dim glow.
The light twisted and finally coalesced into a familiar face—the Lord of the Holy Light Temple, Victor.
But now, that face, usually gentle and compassionate, only held suffocating scrutiny.
“Speak.”
Victor’s voice echoed directly in the chamber, icy and authoritative.
The fallen angel’s eyelashes trembled slightly, but she quickly regained her composure.
“The sacrifice has been docile so far.”
She raised her head slightly, her voice devoid of any emotion.
“She proactively requested to ‘get stronger’ today. This is her combat data from today.”
She lifted her hand, and a crystal recording magical fluctuations appeared in her palm, offering it to the magic crystal.
Victor did not take it. He waved his hand, and a sneering smile appeared on his projection’s face.
“No need. She cannot become stronger now. The Dragon God’s bloodline in that body has been locked down by the ‘Love God curse.’ This so-called training is nothing but a cornered beast’s struggle.”
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing through the crystal as if he could directly see the silver-haired little princess deep in the ruins.
“Tell me, what stage is the curse at now?”
The fallen angel withdrew her hand, her tone still calm:
“From my observations, the curse has already devoured most of her Dragon God’s bloodline power. She is now like a lamp drained of oil—the last faint glimmer could go out at any moment.”
Victor’s lips curled slightly—not with satisfaction, but with a deeper, almost morbid anticipation.
“What about the remaining bloodline power?”
The fallen angel paused—a very brief, almost imperceptible hesitation.
“Extremely stubborn. Ordinary emotional fluctuations like fear, sorrow, and anger can no longer agitate it. It seems to be sleeping… or rather, waiting for some kind of trigger.”
“Waiting for what?”
Victor slowly repeated the word, as if savoring a delicacy.
“Waiting…”
The fallen angel lowered her head.
“I do not know, my lord.”
“You do not know?”
Victor let out a light laugh, tinged with mockery.
“Can’t you guess?”
The fallen angel was silent for a moment.
“…Emotional bonds. The deeper the emotion, the more intense the emotional fluctuation, the more it catalyzes the curse.”
Her voice was still calm, but her pace slowed slightly, as if recalling something.
“And that little dragon… the object of her strongest emotions is the Holy Maiden of Light.”
Victor nodded slightly, a look of “everything is under control” on his face.
“Exactly.”
His brown eyes glimmered with a profound light under the crystal’s refraction.
“Since ordinary ‘fertilizer’ can no longer feed it, it needs a more ‘intense’ ‘nutrient.'”
His lips curled slowly into a smile completely at odds with his sacred appearance—a curve full of greed and madness.
“For example… her beloved Saint Sister.”
The fallen angel’s body stiffened slightly—not a tremor, but the rigidity of being struck by an unexpected blow.
Her voice remained calm, but an extremely subtle shift flickered in her pale golden eyes.
“Master? You mean… the Holy Maiden of Light?”
“I shall go capture the Holy Maiden of Light immediately.”
She raised her hand in a gesture of requesting battle.
Victor chuckled lightly and waved his hand.
“We don’t need to do it.”
“That good disciple of mine, Seraphina—she will definitely come to me.”
“I know best that foolishness in her bones to sacrifice everything for her beliefs.”
He leaned forward slightly, as if savoring an approaching pleasure.
“She will come to confront me. With anger, with grief, with the despair of being betrayed.”
“And these emotions—are precisely the best nourishment for that little dragon.”
The fallen angel remained silent, saying nothing.
“At that time, that little dragon will surely catalyze even more emotions.”
“The seed inside her will fully awaken and completely devour the remaining Dragon God’s bloodline power!”
Victor’s voice began to tremble, not from fear, but from the fervor of the coming “divine miracle.”
His eyes began to shine—not with the light of holy light, but with a twisted, insane light ignited in the depths of darkness.
“And then—with the Dragon God’s bloodline at full power as a sacrifice, sacrifices the entire Temple of Holy Light, sacrifices all the light on this continent!”
His voice echoed in the chamber, growing louder and more manic.
“I—Victor Baylans! Will surely break the shackles of mortals and condense a true ‘Godhood’!”
His figure began to distort and expand within the magic crystal.
His sacred white robe was torn, revealing a body tangled with black magic patterns.
Those patterns slithered under his skin like living things, each exuding a nauseating dark aura.
Victor completely transformed into a humanoid form of black light, his outline blurred. Only his eyes—those scarlet, pupil-less eyes—stared fixedly in one direction.
“When I ascend to the Divine Realm, when I stand before that gate…”
His voice suddenly dropped, like a whisper squeezed from deep in his throat.
“I will surely come to your side, …”
“Shirley.”
The moment that name fell, the fallen angel’s body stiffened sharply.
Not the slight tremor from before—it was as if she had been electrocuted, spine straight, shoulder blades tight, even the feathers on her wings bristling for an instant.
Her pupils contracted violently. Then, everything returned to calm. As if nothing had happened.
Boom!—
With his final roar, the energy stored in the magic crystal finally exceeded its capacity.
The crystal exploded violently, countless fragments flying in all directions, but none harmed the fallen angel—they were deflected by a thin black light film before touching her.
The chamber returned to dead silence. Only the clatter of fragments hitting the ground and the subtle hum of residual magic dissipating in the air.
The fallen angel slowly stood up. Her black wings silently spread behind her, each feather gleaming with a cold blue light in the gloom.
She lowered her head to look at her fingers that had gone stiff—the tips were still trembling slightly.
She hid that hand into her sleeve. Then, she raised her head.
Those pale golden eyes slowly turned toward the direction deep in the ruins—the direction where Yisela was.
She stood there, motionless, like a statue forgotten for too long.
After a long while, her lips moved slightly.
“…Shirley?”