“Huh?” Rebecca was left a bit dazed after being scolded.
“She was born to be a good dog.” Bemore snarked.
“You shut up first, don’t fan the flames. It’s not your turn yet, I’ll deal with you later.” Samimi cut off her snide remark.
Samimi turned her head and continued to berate Rebecca: “I can’t stand you always kneeling all the time—what are you doing?”
“Eh? But as Saints, we always pay our respects to our seniors like this, don’t we?” Rebecca said.
She wasn’t wrong. When Saints meet their seniors, they kneel on one knee, put their hands together, and bow their heads in prayer—this has become a deeply ingrained Church ritual to express respect.
Compared to real-world Church rituals, this is already much simpler—one could even call it perfunctory and rigid, reflecting how Rose Fantasy Battle’s author doesn’t exactly excel at researching real Church practices. Or maybe they just didn’t dare to write it too realistically.
But no matter how you look at it, there probably isn’t supposed to be a part where you cling to someone’s thigh and bury your face in black stockings, right?
“You dare talk back!” Samimi grabbed Rebecca by the collar with one hand, lifting her whole body off the ground, glaring fiercely.
Even with a lace blindfold on, that little scrap of black cloth couldn’t hide her sharp gaze.
Rebecca was so frightened she curled up like a kitten, shrinking into herself and not daring to make a sound.
“With that weak attitude, how could I ever trust you to watch my back? How can we trust a coward who goes weak in the knees at any moment? Pull yourself together. I don’t need a teammate with no backbone—I need someone strong.” Samimi kept pumping Rebecca full of positive energy.
“……” Bemore, listening on the side, felt more and more uncomfortable, as if she was the real target of Samimi’s words.
But the White-haired Witch wasn’t as easy to deal with as the Pure White Knight. Even if their relationship had improved a little, she would never abandon her goals for so-called friendship. She would do whatever it took to achieve them, selling out anything if necessary.
A Witch’s heart held no knightly spirit—no conscience, no empathy, only the pursuit of strength and power.
The Hero Party had never been a united Team from the start. It was just five genius beauties forced together by the Great Nobles of the Royal City.
Each fought their own battles, no one knew each other’s Skills, their cooperation was basic at best, relying purely on raw stats. They didn’t even know who the Team’s Core Carry was.
“Rebecca, don’t let me catch you kneeling to anyone ever again, or don’t blame me for turning on you.”
Samimi didn’t want a loose, trashy Team like this—she wanted to build a Team as solid as an iron barrel.
“O…okay.” Rebecca replied weakly.
Seeing her nod, Samimi finally let go of Rebecca’s collar—but Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees again.
“I told you to stand! Are you deaf?” Samimi was instantly annoyed, her hand readying a karate chop.
“No! My legs gave out!” Rebecca hurriedly waved her hands.
Only then did Samimi put away her hand, grabbing Rebecca with one hand and helping her to a seat on a nearby stool.
Rebecca kept her head down, pouting in silence, her legs pressed tightly together and trembling—her legs really had gone weak.
“I said all this for your own good.” Samimi suddenly softened, patting Rebecca’s shoulder, her tone dripping with tea.
“Mm, I know, Samimi, you’re doing it for my sake, but I just don’t have any confidence. If I’m not following someone, I can’t do anything at all.” Rebecca whispered.
“I’m not asking for anything crazy. You can live your life with me, and gradually learn to stand on your own. But you have to accept this first: without confidence, you’ll never succeed at anything.” Samimi chuckled.
“I understand. I’ll do my best.” Rebecca slowly looked up, her tear-filled eyes sparking with a faint fire.
“Hmph, you actually believe that kind of sappy talk?” Bemore sneered from the side.
“You…” Rebecca wiped away her tears, her pitiful look vanishing in an instant, replaced by an angry, puffy-cheeked glare.
“Let me handle this.” Samimi raised her hand to stop Rebecca, ready to take on Bemore herself.
“What, you think I’m as easy to fool as this woman?” Bemore’s face turned serious, staring coldly at Samimi, not backing down in the slightest.
“Have you ever heard me say sappy, pretty words to you before?” Samimi asked.
“……” Bemore frowned, suddenly at a loss for words.
Thinking back, Samimi only ever said disgusting, raunchy things to her teammates—she really had never said anything nice. Not putting pressure on her teammates was the best she’d ever done.
“I don’t think I’ve ever comforted you Heaven’s Chosen Daughters before. You’re slandering me—I demand an apology.” Samimi protested with a straight face.
“I could apologize to anyone, but I refuse to apologize to you.” Bemore said coldly. “Never.”
“I’m already a Nun of Atonement. Can’t you forgive me?” Samimi asked.
“You got what you deserved. What would forgiving you even change?” Bemore snorted.
“Heh, fine.” Samimi just grinned at these words, not continuing her argument.
“What are you laughing at?” The more Samimi smiled, the darker Bemore’s expression grew.
Why was Samimi smiling?
Because she’d feared the Witch would be softened by these peaceful days—but apparently, that wasn’t the case.
The firmer the Witch’s resolve, the more she would regret it later. And Samimi knew she would get supreme pleasure from that.
Pig-headed Knight Fabiana was still too easy to fool, too pure. Her resolve was still not strong enough. Even though she was a Knight, she hesitated and wavered, making her no fun to toy with.
After the Night of Ennoblement Banquet, after tearing off the masks, that dumb pig Fabiana only cried for a night. There was never that feeling of heartbreak.
The reason was simple: Idiot Fabiana’s family background was just too good. She had a loving family, her own Knight Order, her own Territory—she was born with everything.
But the White-haired Witch Bemore was different. She was only an Illegitimate Daughter.
She had nothing—only a single chance. She had to cling to that chance with everything she had.
The four members of the Hero Party were all heroes who saved the world. Though bound by status and honor, and though they’d done plenty of dirty deeds in secret, they could not be called villains.
Villains were no fun, because villains had no bottom line.
Only good people had their own bottom lines—and only those with a bottom line could be twisted.
A bastard child, wavering between good and evil, reputation and infamy—Bemore’s character and personality were far more complex than Fabiana’s.
So when the chance for fame and fortune clashed with her conscience, Samimi was dying to know: what would she choose?
Would she fall and become a Witch?
Or would she sink into mediocrity?
That kind of unpredictable stage of fate was exactly what Samimi longed for.
If you ask me why I’m so delighted—
It’s simple…
Because I’m a Villainess!