Saintess Rosalind of the Church of Light searched frantically through the scorched earth.
Her once pristine white ceremonial robe was now covered in dust, but she paid it no mind.
Finally, she saw the silver-haired figure lying in a pool of blood, devoid of life.
“No… don’t… don’t…” Rosalind’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees beside Annabell.
“Don’t die, don’t die, I won’t allow you to die!”
Her trembling hand reached out to check Annabell’s breath, tears falling like broken pearls, large and heavy.
“Healing spell! Greater healing spell! Holy resurrection!”
Rosalind madly channeled her holy light magic, even willing to overdraw her own life force.
She cast divine spells as if they cost nothing, trying to hold onto the fading life flame.
Meanwhile, far away in the Elven King’s Inheritance Space.
Charlotte slowly opened her eyes.
She felt an unprecedented surge of power within her body.
The Elven King’s magic circuit had been reshaped inside her, and the Medicine God’s Soulfire danced joyfully in her sea of consciousness.
She had succeeded.
“Anna? Where is Anna?”
Charlotte jumped down from the inheritance platform, her first thought to find that familiar figure.
But the empty Main Hall held only her.
“Charlotte, child…” The old woman’s soul apparition materialized beside her, her voice carrying an unprecedented weight of sorrow.
“Grandma, what happened outside? The trial is over. I need to go find Anna.” Charlotte’s smile suddenly froze for some reason.
The old woman sighed and closed her eyes.
“Child… accept reality. The power of that great explosion even flattened space. That girl named Annabell, to protect you, detonated her own mana and died together with the Demon God. She… I’m afraid she has already…”
“Shut up.”
Charlotte’s voice turned icy cold, cutting off the old woman’s words.
She lowered her head, and tears silently streamed from her emerald eyes, but her expression was eerily calm.
“Anna is so strong, so proud. How could she die in a place like this?” Charlotte slowly clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms, blood dripping.
She forcibly suppressed the grief and vengeful fury that threatened to tear her apart.
“If there’s no corpse, I won’t believe she’s dead. Even if she really is dead…” Charlotte lifted her head abruptly, her eyes revealing a twisted, obsessive madness.
“Even if I have to overturn this world, even if I have to go snatch her from the Abyss, I will definitely resurrect her! Definitely.”
The scene shifts.
The Royal Capital, heart of the Empire, was shrouded in an oppressive atmosphere of impending storm.
It was said that the life crystal of His Highness the First Prince Charles, kept deep within the Royal Secret Tower, had shattered into dust not long ago.
His Majesty the Emperor flew into a rage, ordering the city sealed, with the Imperial Guard and Holy Knight Order searching like mad dogs through every street and alley for any suspicious persons.
Yet, amid this tense outside world, within a remote outpost of the Church of Light on the edge of the Royal Capital, a scene of quiet intimacy and ambiguity unfolded.
Annabell let out a faint groan, waking from a nightmare. She slowly opened her red-blue dual pupil eyes, the Truth Double Pupils.
The first thing she saw was an unfamiliar white ceiling.
She moved her fingers and immediately felt her entire body ache as if her muscles had been reassembled.
It was the aftereffect of forcibly fusing mana beyond her level and overdrawing her life force.
But soon, she sensed something wrong.
Her original black robe, stained with blood and dust, was gone. Instead, she wore a very form-fitting pure white ceremonial robe.
The fabric was light and soft, carrying a faint, subtle fragrance belonging to another young woman.
“You’re awake, Miss Annabell?”
A voice, cold yet laced with barely concealed fervor, sounded beside the bed.
Annabell turned her head sharply. There, Saintess Rosalind of the Church of Light sat quietly by the bedside, holding a bowl of steaming magic herb potion.
Her usually impassive eyes now blazed with a fervent light that made Annabell’s skin crawl.
“You… cough cough!” Annabell tried to speak, but her throat was dry and painful. “Where are my clothes? Where is this?”
“This is one of my private hidden safehouses. Absolutely secure.” Rosalind leaned forward slightly, her golden hair brushing against Annabell’s collarbone, sending a tingling sensation.
Her voice was very soft, as if afraid to disturb the treasure in her arms. “As for your clothes, they were too damaged in the ruins. To clean your wounds, I had to personally change you into my spare ceremonial robe.”
“Personally?!” Annabell’s eyes shot wide open, her red-blue Truth Double Pupils filled with disbelief. “You… you saw everything?!”
Rosalind’s cheeks flushed with an eerie crimson. Instead of denying, she gently rubbed her thumb against Annabell’s pale cheek, her voice carrying a morbid infatuation.
“Lady Annabell, in the ruins, you even risked dying together with the Demon God to protect that commoner. Do you know how badly you were injured when I dug you out of the debris?”
“Every inch of your skin, every scar, I meticulously wiped down with holy water… They are marks of your power, imprints that make me want to worship and adore.”
Annabell sucked in a cold breath, goosebumps rising all over her body.
‘This woman is definitely a pure pervert!’
“Take your hand away!” Annabell forced herself to put on the aloof demeanor of a villainess young lady, coldly slapping away Rosalind’s hand. “This young lady doesn’t need your pity! I can drink the medicine myself!”
With that, she reached for the magic herb potion.
But Rosalind’s wrist did not budge. This usually lofty Saintess now displayed a shy yet extremely stubborn assertiveness.
“No. Your magic circuit hasn’t fully recovered yet. Let me do this rough work instead.” Rosalind scooped up a spoonful of deep purple liquid, blew on it gently, then brought it to Annabell’s lips.
“I said I can do it myself…”
“Lady Annabell, if you don’t obediently drink it, I wouldn’t mind feeding you with my mouth.” Rosalind’s gaze suddenly darkened, a dangerous curve on her lips.
“You—!” Annabell was speechless with anger.
‘How did this masochistic saintess suddenly become so domineering?!’
Staring at Rosalind’s breathtaking face so close, with an indescribable, ambiguously girlish aura hanging between them, Annabell eventually chose to compromise.
A wise man knows better than to fight when the odds are against him, especially when she didn’t even have the strength to lift a spoon.
Annabell humiliatingly swallowed the bitter potion, turning her head away to avoid Rosalind’s infatuated gaze.
“How are things outside?” Annabell made small talk to change the subject, trying to break the suffocating, romantic atmosphere.
“Terrible.” Rosalind carefully wiped the corner of her mouth while answering.
“Prince Charles’s life crystal shattered. His Majesty the Emperor has gone mad. The Royal Capital is now under full lockdown. No one is allowed to leave the city without permission. Everyone who participated in the trial has been listed as a primary suspect.”
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