Chapter 86: The Sword of the Goddess

With a thunderous ‘boom’ and a miserable scream, dust was kicked up by Lilisa’s charge.

The Hero’s legs shot straight out, forming a suspiciously mosaic-like shape.

Ansel wanted to say something, but at the sight before him, he swallowed his words back down.

Young Lady, isn’t this a bit too ruthless?!

“Ansel, kill that woman too, then make it look like they died in an attack by heretics!”

Ansel glanced at Irene, sucking in a cold breath—this was clearly a plan to silence witnesses! But it would be hard to keep this kind of thing from leaking out. Ansel had no choice but to obey. He looked at the female priest, whose face was swollen from his blows, and shook his head with a sigh. “Don’t blame me. You brought this on yourselves.”

He thrust his sword down, but it sank deep into the dirt—Ansel’s sword missed its mark?

At some unknown point, a Holy Knight clad in shining silver armor had already whisked the red-haired priestess away from Ansel, even carrying the mangled corpse of the Hero at her waist.

Sweat poured down Ansel’s face—he hadn’t seen the knight’s movements at all! Far too fast!

He hurriedly looked at Irene, and saw that fine beads of sweat had broken out across the Young Lady’s face as well.

Irene was thinking, Damn it, we’ve been caught red-handed trying to silence someone! And judging by this person’s skills, it’s probably just like in those novels—mess with the small fry, and you’ll draw out the big boss!

Could they take out the big boss too?

Irene felt that their current fighting strength was lacking; with only Lilisa, it was unlikely they could defeat this Holy Knight.

A look of wariness flashed through the heterochromatic eyes of the puppet girl.

“Please be careful, Master. This knight’s strength is unfathomable…”

As if to confirm Irene’s thoughts, the knight let out a bold, unrestrained laugh. “You really did it, you actually killed the Hero. Young Lady, you’ve got some nerve!”

“But I like that kind of unpredictable, free-spirited attitude!”

The knight twirled her finger, then casually tossed the Hero’s corpse aside.

“Rest assured, everyone, I’m not here to cause you trouble. Quite the opposite—I’m here to take this beast back for punishment.”

The knight removed her helmet, letting her long, wavy orange-red hair flutter in the wind. “I am the Captain of the ‘Sword of the Goddess’ Knight Order, current Pope Jerolure’s younger sister, Yanas Lingwell. How about giving me some face and letting this matter rest?”

“After all, he was a Hero anointed by our Church! And this guy’s already dead, so he’s learned his lesson. Let’s call it quits this time, shall we?”

“I apologize on his behalf. Ah, it’s my fault—I’ve been busy with matters at the Tower of Judgement, and never expected this Hero to cause such a mess…”

Though the woman wore a smiling face, there was no room for negotiation in her tone.

Irene was extremely displeased. “And what if I refuse to give you face?” That priestess isn’t dead yet, and Irene didn’t believe for a second that things would end so simply with the Hero’s death.

Yanas narrowed her eyes. All Irene saw was a blur before her—somehow, Yanas had already appeared behind Lilisa, her movements ghostly and impossible to track.

Lilisa dodged to the side, but the sword’s pressure grazed her cheek, slicing off a few strands of hair.

“If you really want to fight, you don’t stand a chance. Besides, I think what you’re doing is extremely reckless, Young Lady. You’re not alone in this world—you have a family, and people in your domain.”

That’s a threat! But Irene couldn’t ignore it. Many protagonists in transmigration novels were fearless because they had no attachments! But Irene was different!

Yet she couldn’t just swallow this insult… But for now, she had no choice. The Church’s power was simply too great.

Moreover, Yanas Lingwell—that name was familiar to Irene.

The strongest knight of the Holy Church in this era, a once-in-a-millennium genius, called by the Pope “the pinnacle of knights, the answer for all clerics!” With their current strength, even with the Miracle Weaver on her side, Irene doubted they could win.

But still—

Irene glanced down at Helga in her arms.

Yanas immediately understood Irene’s meaning, smiling brightly. “The compensation will be delivered to Raven Territory as promised. Please trust in our sincerity. Let’s leave things here—for the good of us both.”

Ignoring Irene’s silence, she hefted the Hero’s corpse with one hand, tossing it onto the carriage like it was a dead dog.

With her other hand, she slung the unconscious candidate Saintess, Elise, over her shoulder and boarded the carriage.

I was planning to chop off that puppet’s head as a warning, but I never expected to miss. This is the first time I’ve met someone who could block my attack.

Could it be that I had the wrong expectations? Even if this Hero had grown, he’d never be a worthy opponent for me.

Yanas glanced at Lilisa, then at Irene whose expression kept shifting, and covered her mouth with a gentle laugh. “Miss Irene, your subjects and loved ones will thank you for your decision today. Don’t regret it.”

Instead, Yanas found herself increasingly interested in Irene. Even knowing this vulgar man was the Hero, she’d dared to kill him for her companion’s sake. Such boldness was truly admirable.

Oh right, she’s also Roswitha’s friend, isn’t she? That should make things even more entertaining.

She knew Roswitha’s true identity, but hadn’t told her sister. After all, it was more fun this way! Yanas was born a powerhouse—at eighteen, her strength had already surpassed dozens of previous captains.

Sometimes, being invincible was a lonely thing. She was always yearning for a strong opponent.

Everything else was unimportant to her.

As long as she could fight to her heart’s content and crush her foes, that was enough! She looked forward to the day Roswitha’s identity was revealed, to the days of clashing with the ‘Shadow Sword Order’—and especially to facing Serena’s father, the man known as Sword Saint!

If you asked who stood at the pinnacle of the human world, most would say his name. If his daughter got caught up in this mess, there’s no way he’d just stand by!

And there was also Irene Raven. Oddly enough, though she was clearly weak and powerless, someone who shouldn’t have attracted her attention at all, whenever Yanas looked at her, she felt a strange sense of dread—

As if she were facing some ancient beast.

With such thoughts, she set off in the carriage, her figure gradually fading into the dusk.

*****

After Yanas left, Irene couldn’t help but curse. “That woman was probably watching from the sidelines the whole time, just here for the show!”

Ansel wiped a deep layer of cold sweat from his brow, lowered his shield, and said with lingering fear, “It’s a good thing you held back, Young Lady, or things would’ve gone badly. That woman has the eyes of a lunatic—she was actually hoping you’d fight her…”

“There’s no way just Lilisa and I could win!” Ansel concluded, looking at the unconscious Helga. “And we’d have to split our attention to protect Miss Helga, which would make it even harder.”

“But isn’t it the same for her? That priestess was half dead…”

Ansel retorted, “Young Lady, do you think a madwoman like her cares about the candidate Saintess’s life?”

Irene was instantly at a loss for words.

She muttered under her breath, “Why is it that none of the Church Knight Order captains are normal…”

This only made Irene more certain that all the Church’s upper echelons were problematic! Best to stay far away from these people if possible.

As for the so-called compensation, Irene didn’t take it seriously at all.

*****

A few days later, a faint scent of herbs wafted through a room in Raven Territory.

Thanks to Old Winston’s superb healing skills and several days of rest, Helga finally woke from her coma. Although the weakness from magical exhaustion still weighed heavily on her, her bright eyes had regained their spirit.

At this moment, she lay on a large, soft bed, covered by a thin blanket embroidered with the Raven family crest.

Irene sat carefully on the bedside, holding a delicate porcelain bowl.

Inside the bowl was a magical recovery potion, specially prepared by Old Winston, giving off an odd but not entirely unpleasant aroma.

Irene wore a smile so gentle it was almost doting, stirring the potion lightly.

“Come on, Helga, be good, open your mouth, it’s time for your medicine!”

Her voice was as soft as a feather, her gaze focused intently on Helga, the tenderness in her eyes making Helga flustered and at a loss.

Helga’s pale cheeks were instantly tinged with a faint blush. She turned her gaze aside in embarrassment, protesting quietly, “Irene, I’m not a child… I can drink it myself.”