“Screw this, never thought I’d have to use the lifesaving gear the Pope gave me here!”
“Ugh—!” With a painful, unwilling groan, Helga forced the trajectory of her magic aside with the last shreds of her soul!
Boom—!!!
The destructive comet beam closed in to within a meter of the Hero before the magic crystal in his hand flared with blinding golden light!
A massive golden barrier sprang up before him, a golden angelic phantom rising at his back, scattering countless feathers of light.
In Helga’s shocked gaze, the blazing magic beam struck the golden shield like a tidal wave against a reef, splitting to either side! That world-destroying force couldn’t penetrate the golden barrier at all!
“Impossible?!”
“Why not?!” Wandra’s dark purple eyes burned with hatred. “This was a gift from the Pope herself—a divine artifact called Absolute Protection, dammit! You, you wretch, this thing’s worth a whole city, and I had to use it on you!”
The magic light split to both sides, its aftershocks scattering dust throughout the ruins of Windmill Village.
It was as if the beam had shattered into countless falling meteors.
The whole battlefield fell deathly silent. Only the crackle of residual energy and distant rumbles echoed.
Wandra’s face was haunted with the terror of surviving by a hair’s breadth. Thankfully, the divine artifact’s absolute protection was truly absolute—the old crone hadn’t lied.
He’d nearly collapsed in fright, but now he struggled to his feet, looking at the utterly exhausted Helga, whose magic was spent and who could barely stand, like a candle in the wind. There was no admiration in his eyes now—only violence and the urge to conquer, awakened by death.
“Wretch, you madwoman!” Wandra panted, his handsome face twisted by fear and rage. “You forced me to use my divine artifact—how am I supposed to explain this to the Pope when I get back, huh?”
He strode toward the helpless Helga, a scroll radiating ominous dark red light appearing in his hand, covered with twisted runes.
“Look at you now! Like a dying stray dog!” Wandra’s voice oozed venomous delight. “But that’s fine! It saves me the trouble! You’ll pay for that last attack! I’ll make you sign this slave contract—forever and ever, you’ll crawl at my feet like the lowest **! You’ll use your body and power to please your master—me!”
On the other side, Elise had finally recovered from the world-shattering attack.
Still shaken, she remembered the moment Helga sent the magic beam at them, ignoring the hostage—she’d truly thought she was done for! Thankfully, the Hero had a trump card left. Makes sense—he’s the Hero, the world’s savior. Why wouldn’t the Church give him a few lifesaving artifacts?
She glanced at the completely helpless Helga, a cruel, excited grin spreading across her face.
She picked up the fallen dagger, swaying her hips as she walked toward the child.
“Oh my, what a pitiful child. Mage, you really ignored the hostage’s life.” Elise’s voice was sickly sweet, but her dagger gleamed coldly. “Such a shame, really. Did you think the Hero wouldn’t have a trump card? Even if you gave it your all, what could you accomplish?”
She reached the boy, raised the dagger high, aiming for his heart, her face alight with sadistic pleasure:
“In the end, you couldn’t save anyone! I’ll send him to meet his god now—so you can watch with your own eyes!”
The cold blade flashed with the last light of the dying sun.
Exhausted of mana, gravely wounded, unable to move even a finger, Helga could only watch as the dagger fell.
Despair, cold as the tide, instantly drowned her.
All her efforts, all her persistence, all her sacrifices—seemed like a cruel joke. She’d given everything, and still couldn’t change this brutal outcome.
‘Eileen… I’m sorry… I… in the end…’
Before her mind sank fully into darkness, that name, full of endless regret and a trace of unacknowledged longing, was about to escape her lips.
At that critical instant!
“Ah––!!!”
A shrill, broken scream, like a rooster strangled by the neck, suddenly shattered the silence!
The one screaming wasn’t anyone else but Wandra Hart, who’d just been savoring his triumph!
A crimson figure appeared at his side, ghost-like, without warning! Moving faster than the eye could follow! A fist, clad in elegant silver gauntlets, carrying a shrieking force that tore through the air, smashed with unstoppable might into Wandra’s twisted, handsome face!
“Pfuh––!”
Blood and several broken teeth sprayed out! Wandra was sent flying like a battering ram had hit him, both feet off the ground, spinning through the air like a rag doll before crashing into a half-crumbled wall, buried under bricks and rubble!
The sudden change froze Elise’s movements! Her raised dagger paused midair. She turned in terror toward the direction Wandra had flown!
“Wha…?!”
Her question never finished!
“Bang!!”
A heavy tower shield, its edges studded with menacing spikes, slammed down like swatting a fly, with a dull, whooshing thud, square into her stunned, malicious face!
“Ugh—!” Elise saw black. Her nose broke with a crisp crack, her face flattened! The agony wiped out all thought, her body stumbling backward, dagger flying from her grasp.
“Eileen…” A weak, incredulous voice sounded.
It was Helga.
She used the last of her strength to turn her head toward the sound of pounding hooves.
The last rays of sunset finally dipped below the horizon.
Dusk gathered, darkness fell.
Yet in that instant between light and shadow, a magnificent white warhorse burst into the ruined battlefield like lightning!
On its back, silver hair whipped wildly in the wind!
Its rider, tall and proud, was wreathed in a cold, biting aura of anger.
Her deep golden eyes blazed like frozen fire.
Close behind her came Lilysha, silent as death, and the knight Ansel, tower shield in hand, eyes sharp as a hawk’s!
Eileen’s gaze swept over Elise, whose face was now a bloody mess thanks to Ansel’s shield, then over Wandra, who’d been punched into the ruins by Lilysha and whose fate was uncertain. At last, all her icy fury fixed on Helga—a look so complex it defied words: terror and anger, yes, but above all, a relief and concern as precious as finding a lost treasure.
She yanked on the reins, the white warhorse rearing with a piercing whinny.
“Helga!” Eileen’s voice quivered almost imperceptibly, but rang clear across the battlefield. “I’m here—how did you end up like this?”
As she spoke, Eileen leapt lightly from her horse, rushing to Helga’s side in a few strides, unhesitatingly reaching out to steady her trembling, icy body.
Those hands, so used to signing documents and controlling all, now shook ever so slightly, yet were filled with undeniable strength and warmth, supporting the last thread of Helga’s fading consciousness.
… Helga gazed at the familiar face so close, at the violet eyes swirling with emotion, and all her taut nerves suddenly relaxed.
She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but only a faint breath escaped. Her vision went black, and she collapsed limply into Eileen’s arms.
Eileen held the battered, unconscious girl tightly, feeling her weak breath and cold skin, her heart gripped by an invisible hand.
She looked up, gaze sweeping over the ravaged ruins, pausing on the little boy whom Ansel had quickly checked and confirmed was alive, just unconscious. Finally, her icy glare stabbed like blades toward the pile of rubble burying Wandra and the limp, mud-like form of Elise nearby.
“Lilysha.” Eileen’s voice was cold enough to freeze the air, laced with killing intent. “Kill that ‘Hero’!”
Eileen didn’t care about any so-called Church-appointed hero! He’d hurt Helga so badly, used such vile means—letting him live would be a waste of food. If he was a fake, Eileen would be doing the world a favor. If he was real? Eileen couldn’t care less!
Eileen wasn’t usually bloodthirsty, but feeling the frail breath of the girl in her arms, her fury had burned away all reason.
“Yes, Master!”
Lilysha ignited with crimson flames, instantly entering triple-burn mode, walking toward the pile of rubble. There, the ‘hero’ with the swollen face was struggling to his feet, and of course he’d heard Eileen’s words.
… “You—you can’t kill me, I was appointed by the Pope herself! My status is sacred! If you kill me, you’ll be defying the entire Church!”
The hero was panicking, still dizzy from the earlier blow, his strength gone. He cowered in Lilysha’s shadow, retreating, and a foul stench wafted between his legs.
He could feel the murderous intent from Lilysha and Eileen—these women really meant to kill him!!
“Wait, no, I—I know I was wrong, I’ll never do it again, please, spare my life!”
Eileen snorted: “Lilysha, do it!”
As for this man’s character, Eileen could see it at a glance. Expect him to repent? Dream on! Eileen wasn’t a goddess—she didn’t have the mercy to forgive all.
“Sorry, but Master’s orders are absolute!”
Magic light flared around Lilysha’s fist, and she punched down.
The hero’s screams rang out at once.