The saintess is not a combatant.
Except in extreme cases like Halia, even Judith, who possesses some combat-oriented tricks, would reveal various weaknesses if she were to engage in a full-fledged battle alone.
Bersia also had a similar nature.
However, there was simply no opponent in the world strong enough to expose that weakness.
Zzzt—!
Beams of light poured down like a torrential downpour.
Not only did they shatter the barrier surrounding the building, but their force was enough to half-destroy the structure beneath it.
The spell infused into the prayer was simple. “Light with physical force.”
In short, the scene that Versia created was nothing less than a disaster brought forth purely through sheer magnitude.
Even in the midst of this overwhelming bombardment that crushed everything in sight, Versia remained calm.
More precisely, she felt neither superiority nor omnipotence from this power.
How could one feel novelty in what they were born with?
From the start, there was something far more pressing on her mind—she had no time to marvel at the divine power she had unleashed herself.
“So persistent, seriously.”
“If I were so easily crushed, do you think I would have shown myself? The moment you arrived, I would have fled immediately.”
“Would you just die already? I’m really busy, you know.”
“Busy rolling around with that knight?”
“Yeah, there are a lot of things I really want to do.”
Boom!
The barrier that Tehra wrapped around her body was sturdy.
It wasn’t that she was taking no damage; rather, each time she took a hit, she restored herself immediately, boasting an almost cockroach-like vitality.
Because of the Curse of Longing, her thoughts weren’t as sharp as they should be.
Even so, Tehra’s composure was creating a distinct sense of unease within Bersia.
‘What is this?’
She took a step forward, expelling her divine power even more intensely.
Wings of light materialized, scattering feathers imbued with countless prayers—each carrying properties such as penetration, explosion, and contagion.
The speed at which Tehra’s barrier crumbled increased.
Yet, there was no fatal damage.
‘Another fake?’
But if that were the case, the presence was too strong.
She could feel the presence of the heretics’ god, Ashanta, within her.
It was a direct presence that fakes could never emanate.
“Child, are you overthinking?”
Bersia’s brow furrowed at Tehra’s tone, as if speaking to a child.
A sly curve formed in Tehra’s eyes.
“Fufu, it must be complicated. Many sinister thoughts must be running through your mind. That prim and proper knight must be your mental opponent, and your spreading imagination must be racing beyond your control.”
The sense of unease thickened.
“At first, you must imagine sweet kisses and warm embraces. Then, your minds will move toward the act of pressing your bare bodies together.
Next, you will think of looking at each other, soaked in sweat and bodily fluids.
And then, you will start imagining licking, biting, and clawing at each other.”
The unease surged up to the very top of her head.
And at that moment—
“There’s something after that, isn’t there?”
Those words were spoken.
“The moment when you realize you and your partner are fundamentally different beings.
Didn’t that moment ever come, when the mere thought of it made you sick to your stomach?”
“…!”
“…And at that moment, you think of it.
A truly horrific, yet irresistibly sweet solution.”
Versia realized what this feeling of unease was.
Goosebumps rose all over her skin.
A twisted smile spread across her face, and her divine power, tainted with ferocity, took on a deeper crimson hue.
A question burst forth.
“What the hell are you?”
What are you,
“That you can speak as if you’ve experienced the symptoms of the curse?”
How do you know this curse so well?
Tehra’s smile deepened.
But unlike before, there was no warmth in her expression.
She hadn’t changed her face, yet it felt insidious. It was distorted. It was crumbling.
“The answer is already in your head, isn’t it?”
And then—
Boom!
A spear shot out from Tehra’s crumbling barrier.
Bersia blocked it with her wings.
With a deafening roar, the impact reverberated through the air.
But Versia had no time to worry about that.
She was pulling together the pieces of information in her mind.
An absurd possibility surfaced.
No, it couldn’t be.
Even as she denied it, her thoughts narrowed toward a single answer.
The dust in the air settled.
Beyond her wings, Bersia saw Tehra.
She looked like a woman in her late twenties.
But considering she was a witch, age was meaningless.
At last, she uttered a name.
“…Sera.”
“Fufu…”
“Sera Wisdia.”
Anyone affiliated with the Holy Order… no, anyone living on this continent would recognize that name.
For she was the harlot who destroyed the first kingdom—
And the first saint to fall to the Curse of Longing.
“She should be dead.”
“That’s what people believe. Thankfully.”
Sera twirled her fingers as if conducting an orchestra.
She hummed a tune, utterly devoid of any sense of crisis.
Only amusement filled her expression.
“It’s not an important matter.
At least, not to me.”
Whoosh—
Black thorns sprouted in the air.
They carried the divinity of Ashanta.
Bersia’s eyes widened to their limits.
She had no choice.
What Sera was using now was…
‘…Ancient Prayer Arts.’
A long-lost divine technique.
“You must feel nostalgic, seeing such a familiar curse.
It’s so delightful—like looking at my past self.”
The thorns shot forward.
Zzzzzttt!
Bersia wrapped her wings around herself, blocking the attack, but the impact was greater than before.
More than that, her focus wavered as the curse’s effects began creeping up again.
Her breath ran hot, and her brows furrowed.
Seeing this, Sera spoke again, as if trying to shake her further.
“You poor, favored child.
The one who monopolized the love of God.”
Her smile held a trace of pity.
“You will fall. Just as I did.”
“Old folks who ruined their lives always curse others like that. Thinking the whole world is as screwed up as they are.”
“Even if you deny it, it’s useless.”
Blood-red tears flowed from Sera’s eyes.
It meant she was willing to endure the backlash of using her power.
Yet, she did not stop speaking.
“Aren’t you starting to feel what kind of curse this is?
It’s not a curse that drives you into reckless lust.
Quite the opposite.
It’s a pure and absolute curse.
A curse that makes you crave just one irreplaceable thing, endlessly, no matter what else exists in the world.”
“…Shut up.”
“You will…”
“I told you to shut up.”
But Sera said it anyway.
“…You will kill that knight with your own hands.
Because otherwise, you will never be able to possess him completely.”
Kiiiiiiiing!
The halo burned red.
Bersia’s expression froze.
Murderous intent filled the space.
Every element that made up the material world resonated with Bersia’s emotions.
Sera laughed loudly, as if she had spoken the truth.
“You will kill and consume him.
For a moment, it will feel exhilarating.
But after that, only emptiness will remain.
You will go mad, searching for something to fill that void.
But you know better than anyone—love cannot be replaced.
So, you will suffer endlessly.
That is why…”
Cough—!
Sera spat blood as she tore through space.
“…That curse’s name is Longing (渴愛).”
Beyond the ruptured space, Ashanta’s eye gazed upon Bersia.
Bersia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Have you never once wondered?
Why the omnipotent Father, who supposedly created all things, has not personally punished a mere heretic god?
Why He remains silent, even while condemning Ashanta as evil?”
She felt as if her entire body had frozen.
The evil god’s gaze bound her divine power.
“Why does the one true Absolute Being tolerate His counterpart?”
Creak— The halo began to collapse under the pressure.
“Have you never considered the possibility that it’s not that He won’t act—but that He can’t?”
Crack— Her wings twisted unnaturally.
She tried to regenerate them, but it wasn’t working as it should.
Sera whispered.
“Have you never thought about the possibility…
That your god is afraid of Ashanta?”
What an absurd thought.
Even as she dismissed it, the suffocating pressure shook her.
She was going to lose.
If she faced this any longer, she would reach a point of no return.
She held her breath.
From the moment their eyes met, she could feel the curse responding.
Her breathing became ragged.
Sweat trickled down her body.
A face surfaced in her mind.
Her entire consciousness became overwhelmed by the desire to own him.
The whisper continued.
“Let me help you a little.”
She was on the verge of breaking.
“…?”
A vibration rippled through the air.
Thud—!
It grew stronger and rougher.
Bersia forced herself to lift her head.
A hint of displeasure appeared on Sera’s face.
And then—
BOOOOOM!
With a deafening explosion, the black thorns that had filled the space shattered.
A figure emerged through the chaos.
Blood-stained clothes, yet an unscathed, composed face.
Black hair.
Blue eyes.
A straight sword in hand.
“…Sir Knight?”
“Apologies for being late.”
Usher had arrived.
His broad back filled Bersia’s vision.
Then, his face came into view.
Steady. Warm.
It was reassuring.
And at the same time, unbearably troublesome.
“Are you all right, Saintess—”
“…Ah, I’m wet.”
“???”
Usher looked down at Bersia with sheer disgust.
Bersia studied his face.
A wave of heat surged through her.
This was the last thing she should be thinking about in this situation.
But because of the curse, she couldn’t help it.
She couldn’t shake off the rising emotions.
Her thoughts spiraled.
‘Degradation play.’
…That might actually be nice.