“Minotauros?”
Samimi sat down on the bench, falling into deep thought.
This name was definitely a hundred times better than the random nickname she had given—Niubao (Little Cow). Once Niubao grew up, she’d definitely need a more proper name.
This was an official, Church-registered name. Niubao would become a true nun, even eligible for a retirement pension someday.
But that wasn’t the issue…
If Samimi remembered correctly…
That name Minotauros belonged to a wildly popular, ultimate, unbeatable, chaotic-neutral antagonist BOSS throughout the novel “Rose Phantasm Duel”!
A terrifying existence capable of single-handedly wiping out all the second-tier members of the protagonist group.
Anyone who knew a bit of Greek mythology would catch the parody—it was a spin on the infamous Minotaur, aka “the original bull-headed monster.”
And in the novel, this character wasn’t even killed—just sealed. Waiting for the day its seal would break. A wildly popular villain who made readers both love and hate it.
It became such a hit because it operated outside all the major powers—it was a chaotic lone wolf.
It didn’t belong to humanity or the Abyss—neither side liked it.
Human warriors wanted to kill it, the Abyss wanted to consume and corrupt it, and even the beastmen wanted it dead. But all three sides got destroyed by it in the end.
A one-monster army who literally wrecked the whole world!
At first, the novel only described Minotauros in vague, shadowy outlines—mysterious and oppressive. Only in the final battle did readers get a proper visual.
It was a battle-mad, bull-headed warrior who didn’t care for politics or race wars.
Its only goal: challenge the strong and prove its might.
Sometimes it’d pass through human villages and ignore them out of sheer disinterest—the people were too weak to bother with.
Minotauros was that perfect mix of good and evil, a battle freak. Popularity was inevitable.
As for its power? Only one word: terrifying.
It began as a simple minotaur-like beast wandering the land.
After being ganged up on and seriously injured in the Sealing Battle, it evolved into its Stage Two: Giant Berserker Bull Form—half-dragon, half-bull.
After that form was defeated, it still had a final phase: Stage Three – Sword Saint Mode, in a humanoid form.
Three full transformation stages—just imagine the boss level of this thing.
Strength, speed, technique, even looks—it ranked top in every category.
Its only weakness? A somewhat simple, honest brain. It fell into the protagonists’ ambush because it didn’t overthink things. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been beaten.
And now Samimi remembered everything.
Niubao… was the baby form of that villainess.
No wonder she got so many virtue points for saving her—way more than killing a newborn demon destined to become a demon king.
Samimi looked at Niubao, swallowing nervously. The resemblance was just too uncanny.
“So we’re the villainess with blonde hair and the mini villain cow girl… what a power duo,” Samimi muttered to herself.
“?” Niubao tilted her head, big innocent eyes blinking with confusion.
“It’s nothing.” Samimi patted her on the head.
But no matter what, she wouldn’t let things go down the way they did in the story. She’d raise Niubao to be a kind, gentle minotaur.
If she hadn’t saved her and treated her wounds that day, Niubao would probably have grown up full of hatred for humanity.
No parents. No care. No love. She would’ve walked the exact same path as in the original story—eventually becoming that unstoppable god of slaughter.
It seemed Samimi had accidentally changed the course of the world’s fate.
“Niubao, you heard it. We’re going on a trip tomorrow. Pack your bags,” Samimi said.
“Okay.” Niubao nodded obediently and went off to pack.
This docile personality matched the Minotauros of the novel exactly—there was just a thin line between a sweet kid and a battle-obsessed berserker.
The difference lay in childhood experiences. And childhood shaped the life of a bull.
No point overthinking it now—Samimi went around locking up every room in Sweet Melon Church, especially the warehouse with the healing potions. She added two extra locks to that one.
Niubao had already packed two huge bags and stacked them neatly in the corner.
“Let’s have a good meal tonight,” Samimi said.
“Okay,” Niubao responded sweetly and began cooking.
And what a feast she made—she cooked up an entire banquet, using up all the food in storage.
“Ughh…” Samimi’s stomach bulged; she nearly vomited from overeating.
“Eat! Eat!” Thankfully, Niubao had a big enough appetite to finish it all, though even she wouldn’t need to eat again today or tomorrow.
That night, Niubao was full and fast asleep on her tiny wooden bed.
Samimi didn’t meditate or train that night. She lay in bed for once—but couldn’t sleep. She stared up at the ceiling.
“Didn’t expect to get school anxiety again at my age… what a weird experience,” she said, hands folded behind her head.
It was that classic feeling of pre-school-night nerves—unable to fall asleep.
In the end, she still got up and began meditating, calming her mind through magical focus.
She really was looking forward to tomorrow.
A magic academy was a staple of any isekai story.
“Can’t miss out on one of the biggest tropes of another world.”
If you come to another world and don’t at least mess around at a magic school, did you even really isekai?
Meanwhile, someone else couldn’t sleep either—Saintess Machima.
Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was her former disciple.
That dark, imposing figure beneath the cracked and weathered statue of the goddess—etched deep into her memory.
Even Machima felt stunned by that image. That was a true ascetic, a penitent saint walking through darkness, a demon-hunting nun carrying the Demon-Slaying Sword.
Meanwhile, she—Machima—was just a puppet under a spotlight. Glorious on the surface, but powerless underneath.
Samimi didn’t feel like her disciple at all. The style was completely opposed to her own purity and sanctity.
There was no trace of herself left in Samimi’s current self.
If there were even the slightest trace, she could’ve spoken up and asked her to return.
But now? She couldn’t bring herself to say anything.
Just like Samimi had said—she was a noblewoman’s forced gift to the Saintess. A freebie disciple. Just a formality.
Villainesses like Samimi were always like that—chasing prestige, annoying everyone, and never forming genuine bonds. So why would anyone care about her feelings?
But now, the ugly duckling had turned into a phoenix. Samimi was the true prophesied savior. And Machima realized, too late, that she had let her go.
“How pathetic is that?”
Even she had to admit—she really was pathetic.
And that’s why Saintess Machima wanted to repair the relationship.
Even if they could never be master and disciple again… at least they shouldn’t part as enemies.
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