At the border of the Raven Domain, the air was filled with an unprecedented clamor and unrest.
Originally, the territory had only sporadically accepted refugees, but within just two days, it was as if an invisible flood had surged through, bringing in far more people than expected.
They were ragged and gaunt, their faces pale and thin, yet in their eyes burned an almost fanatical hope as they repeatedly called out the same name:
“Lady Eileen! Saint of Salvation!”
“Save us, Saint of Salvation!”
“It was the Saint who guided us here!”
This sudden wave caught the entire territory completely off guard.
Even more astonishing was an explosive piece of news that spread like wildfire among the refugees, the Adventurer’s Guild, and even neighboring towns: the mysterious, chivalrous, and enigmatic new adventurer squad known as the “Masquerade” was actually none other than Lady Eileen, the daughter of Marquis Raven, and her companions!
“It’s her! Those mysterious swordsmen and mages who helped us!”
“Lady Eileen not only shelters us, she personally punishes evildoers!”
“This is truly the work of a Saint!”
The scale and speed of this rumor’s spread was so great that it didn’t just remain within the borderlands; news even reached the direction of the capital.
After Serena, a descendant of the Sword Saint’s lineage and one of Eileen’s former comrades, publicly cleared Eileen’s name, stating that previous accusations were outright slander, her reputation as a villainess and bad woman was completely erased.
Multiple factors combined, and Eileen’s reputation reversed at an unimaginable speed.
Almost overnight, the once infamous villainous heiress in the capital became known in parts of the borderlands and even some circles in the capital as the “Saint of Salvation” and the “Lightbringer in Darkness.”
Inside the castle study, Eileen stood by the window, her delicate brows tightly furrowed as she looked down at the bustling, continuously arriving tide of refugees.
Her maid, Layla, stood beside her, a mixture of worry over the increasing number of people, relief at Eileen’s rising reputation, but mostly confusion etched across her face.
“Miss, this… this reputation is spreading too fast. It’s unnaturally fast—almost like when you were slandered in the capital,” Layla said gravely. “The identity of the ‘Masquerade’ was always well-hidden. And this title of ‘Saint’…”
Eileen’s fair fingers lightly tapped the cold window frame, her gaze sharp and profound. “Someone is stirring the waters, Layla. Someone is deliberately pushing me into this position. It’s a familiar tactic. But no matter what, these people need help.”
Rumors have the power to destroy a person—but they can also make someone shine brilliantly.
At least this reputation has meaning; it can attract those with nowhere else to turn. Eileen was determined to help wherever she could. Providing just enough for their basic needs didn’t require much money.
And money was not something Eileen lacked.
In a few months, when the first wave of crops in the territory’s fields was harvested, they would completely free themselves from dependence on food imports.
Moreover, because they were building a new home, the refugees’ enthusiasm was unprecedentedly high.
She took a deep breath, turned, and restored the calm and resolute tone befitting a marquis’s daughter: “The territory is going to face a lot of pressure lately. Open the granaries and distribute grain. Organize manpower to build temporary shelters, and strengthen patrols to maintain order. They fled because of the Church’s tyranny; we can’t let them lose hope again in their search for it. As for this ‘Saint’ title…” She curved her lips into a slightly self-mocking smile. “Let’s deal with survival first.”
However,
Just as the refugee settlement efforts were underway in full swing, a sharp horn blast shattered the quiet of a border town in the Raven Domain.
Two lines of Church elite knights, clad in gleaming silver armor with the blazing holy flame emblem branded on their chests, marched in oppressive, perfectly synchronized steps like two cold floods of steel, brutally storming into the town square.
Leading them were two figures, whose presences were different yet equally suffocating.
On the left stood a tall, spear-like figure with an icy, sculpted face, a long sword of an archaic yet fierce design hanging at her waist.
This was Janess, the “Sword of the Goddess,” whose gaze seemed to freeze the very air as it swept across the square.
On the right was a woman with sickly elegance, a faint, chilling smile playing on her lips. This was Ingrid, the “Crown of the Goddess,” whose eyes slithered through the crowd like venomous snakes, filled with cruel interest as if inspecting prey.
Janess’s cold voice, though not loud, rang clearly across the noisy square, silencing all sound instantly:
“By order of Supreme Pontiff Jelorule and the judgment of the Church Tribunal!”
“Eileen Raven, harboring and conspiring with the witch Rita, suspected of murdering a Church hero—crimes of the highest order!”
“Rita, witch and heretic, seducing and blaspheming!”
“Immediately arrest and escort to Saint City for trial! Anyone daring to obstruct will be deemed complicit and executed on the spot!”
“Wha—!”
After a brief silence came an even louder uproar!
The refugees gathered in the square—the very ones who had just been praising the “Saint”—were suddenly filled with rage and fear.
They had witnessed the Church’s “judgment” before and knew what it meant—burning at the stake, the gallows, endless torment! The Church showed no mercy!
And now their savior, Lady Eileen, who had sheltered them, was about to be taken away under such charges?
“Nonsense!” A weather-beaten farmer suddenly stood up, pointing angrily at Janess. “Lady Eileen is the Saint! She saved us! You Church are the real devils!”
“Right! You burned our village! Killed our kin! Now you want to take Lady Eileen? Over my dead body!” a woman who had lost her home cried out.
“Miss Eileen is the hero who drew the Holy Sword! I can guarantee this in my capacity as Gravekeeper Chief Aya. The Church should know about the Holy Sword!” Aya argued.
The hero who was killed was most likely a fake! In Aya’s heart, only Eileen, who drew the Holy Sword, was the true savior!
They had long lived hidden in the Valley of Death, honoring their pact with the Church. But what was the Church doing?
After leaving the valley, everything they had seen and heard had left the Gravekeepers with no goodwill towards the Church.
As for Captain Ansel, leader of the territory’s guard, he had already rallied the guards upon hearing the news. Without hesitation, they drew their weapons and stood firmly at the road to the castle with a chaotic human wall formed spontaneously by the refugees.
Their message was clear: anyone wanting the young lady must go through their corpses first!
Each pair of eyes burned with fury—accumulated grievances against the Church’s tyranny, and gratitude toward Eileen’s protection—now united in fierce determination.
They did not understand complex theology, but they knew who gave them a chance to live! Someone as kind-hearted as Miss Eileen, who helped everyone, could not be a villain.
If not her, then who could be truly good in this world?
Janess furrowed her brow; she hadn’t expected such fierce resistance.
The fanatical protective instinct in these commoners’ eyes made her feel something was off.
Ingrid, on the other hand, chuckled sharply, her voice grating: “Look! Janess, look at these bewitched sheep! How pathetic and laughable! Doesn’t this only prove how deeply that so-called witch Rita and this ‘Saint’ Eileen have poisoned the souls of this land with their dark magic?”
The conflict was about to erupt! The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder.
The knights gripped their sword hilts tightly, while the guards and refugees tightened their makeshift weapons and farming tools, their gazes resolute.
Serena didn’t hesitate to draw her sword, its cold gleam flashing. Her eyes were icy and determined, as if she would be the first to charge if the enemy dared to move.
She was Eileen’s blade and had resolved to live for her! When one’s heart was consumed by a single obsession, there was no room left for hesitation!
Serena could tell that among the two knight commanders, the blonde one was not that formidable, but the orange-haired one might rival her own father’s strength. If all went as expected, that orange-haired knight was likely Janess—the so-called “Church’s pinnacle, the answer of the knights.”
A once-in-a-millennium prodigy!
But with Eileen here, Serena did not believe she would lose!
Janess seemed to have noticed Serena’s gaze. A flash of delight appeared in her amber-red eyes, as if spotting a perfect prey.
Their eyes met in silent confrontation—the invisible duel had already begun.
Janess even looked forward to the moment Eileen was arrested and their masks torn off. The fight would surely be interesting.
At this moment, Eileen herself arrived in the square. As expected, the Church’s retaliation had finally come.
Truthfully, until now, she had never believed Rita was truly a witch! To her, this was the Church’s excuse to retaliate after the hero was killed by her hand!
Crossing the Church was indeed troublesome.
Fight? What good would it do? Even if they repelled this wave, it would only cement the “proof” of Eileen’s collusion with witches! Then the Church would send knights again in the name of God!
There would be no end to this!
This was a difficult situation. She needed to find another way. Wait, if the knights were escorting her, they would most likely pass through Sol City. There was a regional bishop of the kingdom there—an influential figure second only to the Pope.
She remembered he had some connections with her family—
As Eileen pondered, she saw a slender but resolute figure stumble out from the castle, rush through the crowd, and run straight into the clearing between the two opposing forces.
It was Rita. Was the girl about to do something reckless again?
Her pale face was drained of all color, her body trembling slightly, but her clear eyes bore an almost despairing calm.
She spread her arms wide, standing between the angry villagers and the guards, directly facing Janess and Ingrid.
“Stop! Everyone stop!” Rita’s voice cracked with tears but was unusually clear. “It’s me! It’s all me! It has nothing to do with Miss Eileen!”
She took a deep breath, as if summoning all her strength, and shouted loudly:
“I am the ‘witch’ you’re looking for! Rita! Miss Eileen… Miss Eileen knows nothing! She just kindly took in a lonely orphan like me! I deceived her! I hid my identity! It was all me! If you want to arrest someone, arrest me! Don’t involve innocent people! I beg you!”
Her gaze swept over the villagers and guards glaring fiercely to protect her, filled with pain and pleading: “Please… please don’t die for me…”
“Rita!” Eileen’s heart tightened as she wanted to rush forward.
But Ingrid’s cruel smile deepened.
“Back at Windmill Village, I was blind to let a witch like you go. Now you’re playing the innocent, sowing discord? Oh, such a touching ‘sacrifice,’” she licked her lips, eyes gleaming with sadistic excitement. “But do you think admitting the truth will save your ‘Saint’ miss? She harbors a witch; the crime is undeniable! Besides, she killed the hero! Janess, what do you say?”
Janess’s cold gaze swept over Rita, then fixed on Eileen without any emotion. “Eileen Raven, guilty as charged. Naturally, both will be taken in.”
She then looked at Serena with a challenging expression.
“Come on, fight me! If you don’t want your precious ‘lover’ taken by me, then fight!”
Sure enough, Serena drew her sword a little, her expression conflicted. Having matured a lot after previous events, she understood the terrible consequences of fighting, so she constantly restrained herself.
But if Eileen said to fight, she would not hesitate.
“You!” Captain Ansel’s eyes were bloodshot. The villagers were even more enraged, ready to charge recklessly.
At the brink of a bloody clash, Eileen’s voice rang out clearly with a strange calming power:
“Everyone stop!”
She gently pushed Serena aside and slowly approached Rita.
Helping the girl to her feet, she patted her frail, trembling shoulder. Then she raised her head, facing the cold or fervent gazes of Janess and Ingrid, a composed, almost casual smile appearing on her face.