episode_0042

Long, flowing black hair shimmered with a glossy sheen. Her flawless, jade-like skin bore not a single blemish, and her crimson eyes gleamed like gemstones forged from the hardened blood of a goddess. Not a speck of dust dared cling to her robes, as though even the thought of touching her was unthinkable.

If asked to name the strongest human in the world, opinions would clash fiercely between two candidates. But if asked to name the most precious, everyone would unanimously agree on one person.

She seemed like a being detached from the world—an otherworldly presence, as if she had descended from the heavens. A sacred aura radiated from her, one that felt blasphemous to defy.

Yet, in truth, she was a wanton woman who had betrayed her friend for pleasure and even bore a child with a man. Still, her unique presence remained, as if asserting who she truly was.

The Saintess Marika. Ariana’s childhood friend, who had shared half her life, and now the woman she hated more than anyone in the world.

“How can you be here?”

“Isn’t it natural for the Holy Kingdom to have its Saintess? Besides, Liel, I knew you’d come looking for me.”

“That’s not what I meant. How dare you show your face before me? Saintess Fernandez.”

“So now you won’t even call me by my name?”

Marika smiled faintly, her expression bitter.

“Fernandez” was the surname granted to her by the Pope, Arkazal—a name she acquired upon standing on official stages, one that the Holy Kingdom used to address her. To Marika, who had once been burdened by the title of Saintess, both the sudden high rank and the surname felt like thorns digging into her skin.

Ariana was the only one who still called her simply “Marika,” as she had since childhood. Between the two of them, the act of using her name carried deep meaning.

“You, of all people, shouldn’t have done this to me.”

Ariana’s voice was icy, devoid of even a flicker of hesitation. If asked to name the most unforgivable person in her former party, the answer would undoubtedly be the Saintess.

Though the pain of loss had been greatest with her lover Yuria, the betrayal had cut deepest with Marika.

And for good reason. Aside from family, the two had shared the longest bond—closer than kin, understanding each other perfectly, relying on each other for years.

Because Marika had needed her, Ariana had abandoned the life she loved in the Magic Tower and stepped into the blood-soaked Demon Realm. She had shouldered burdens she didn’t have to bear and suffered wounds she didn’t have to endure.

“And this was your repayment? I cared for you more than anyone, yet you betrayed me for some worthless man.”

“Liel, I—”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

A magic circle rapidly unfolded above Ariana’s hand. No matter how many times she thought it over, the conclusion never changed. She could never forgive her—her former friend.

Between them, the only language left was violence. Any other words were meaningless.

“So this was our fate after all.”

A sacred aura spread around Marika, her expression somber. Her divine power was fundamentally different from Ariana’s.

In contrast to Ariana’s unstable, lightning-like energy, Marika’s divine power—bestowed directly by the gods—was warm and gentle, like sunlight.

“Looking at you makes me think there’s no such thing as gods in this world.”

Otherwise, how could a lecherous Saintess who betrayed her friend still wield such power? Or perhaps Ariana herself was wrong for refusing to submit to fate.

But she couldn’t be wrong.

“Gods. Damn the goddess. There’s no such thing.”

Ariana’s magic clashed with Marika’s divine art—and her magic shattered into nothingness.

Tch. Still no good, huh?

With a slight tilt of her head, Ariana dodged the incoming divine art.

The reason for this outcome lay in the absurdity of the Saintess’s existence. Divine arts, meant to eradicate evil, could not harm ordinary humans—only undead and demons.

But the Saintess alone was exempt from this rule. As the goddess’s proxy, her enemies were the goddess’s enemies—and thus, by definition, evil.

Thus, the Saintess’s divine arts could target anyone she deemed hostile, with overwhelming advantage.

Ariana could have gained the upper hand with sheer firepower or close-quarters combat, but—

BOOM!

Grace’s mace narrowly missed Ariana, slamming into the ground instead.

—that wasn’t an option either.

Surrounded on all sides, even getting close to Marika was impossible.

Though Ariana had supposedly overcome a mage’s weaknesses, she was still a mage at her core. In this kind of battle, discomfort was inevitable.

“Just moments ago, you were silent as if you’d swallowed honey. But now your eyes are alive again.”

“I don’t know if you have the right to force this fight. But if the Saintess orders your capture, it is the will of the goddess. As a cleric, it is my duty to obey.”

There was no reasoning with this. Faith existed beyond logic. No rational argument could reach those who believed.

Divine arts from Marika in front. Swords and spears from the Holy Knights on either side. Grace’s mace from behind.

Dodging everything was impossible. A breath too short to even call a sigh escaped Ariana’s lips.

I didn’t want to show this.

Especially not in a place like this, surrounded by clergy.

“Well, whatever. It’s not like things can get any worse.”

What is she planning? Marika tilted her head, wary. Her childhood friend’s techniques had shocked not just enemies but even allies like them.

But even Marika, who thought she had braced herself, couldn’t help but contort her usually serene expression.

“Liel… you…!”

It wasn’t just Marika. Arkazal, Grace—who had been closing in on Ariana—and even the helmeted Holy Knights couldn’t hide their shock. To them, this was an earth-shattering event.

Because to those who worshipped the gods, this should have been impossible.

Fzzzt—!

Divine power, crackling like sparks, scattered from Ariana’s hand alongside remnants of divine art.

With divine power in her left hand and magic in her right, Ariana blocked Marika’s attack with divine art while blasting away the surrounding enemies with magic.

“Was that… divine art? It looked extremely unstable, but was that divine art?”

“This is absurd. How can a mage use divine…?”

Arkazal and Grace exchanged words. A mage—a wanted criminal accused of treason—had wielded a divine miracle. This could shake the very foundations of the Holy Kingdom.

While the Pope and the Grand Holy Knight denied the reality before them, Marika screamed in fury.

“You’ve fallen, Liel! How dare you commit such blasphemy!”

“Finally, a crack in that mask of yours? That’s the first expression of yours I’ve liked.”

“Arrest that blasphemer at once!”

The command came from Arkazal. Though momentarily stunned, he quickly cooled his head and assessed the situation.

This must never reach the public. If people learned that a mage—let alone Liel Frost—could wield divine arts, the Holy Kingdom’s prestige would crumble instantly.

For a mere human to wield divine miracles on their own—what an outrage!

Having made his calculations, he swiftly rallied the bewildered Holy Knights. Capturing Ariana was now imperative, but what to do with the countless witnesses? Forgetting even his dignity as Pope, he clutched his head in frustration.

The Holy Knights, though confused, rationalized that Ariana must have used some wicked trick to mimic divine power. Those erratic sparks were proof enough.

Otherwise, everything they had believed in would collapse. And in a way, their assumptions weren’t entirely wrong.

“[Sword of Judgment].”

Marika’s clear voice rang out as a divine sword materialized above Ariana’s head—a sacred blade so awe-inspiring it seemed to gaze down upon her.

But this technique was no longer the Saintess’s alone.

“[Sword of Judgment].”

A sword, gripped in a reverse stance, flipped and shot skyward, materializing beside Ariana.

“You’re copying my techniques now… Liel. You’ve truly gone too far.”

“I didn’t learn this to use against you. But I’m glad my efforts weren’t wasted. Thanks to you.”

“This is the real thing!”

A sword like sunlight descended. A sword like lightning soared. The divine blades clashed, unleashing an unprecedented explosion.

—

“Damn it! How am I supposed to find one girl in a city this huge?!”

Grumbling where no one could hear, Lirit sprinted through the streets. The only silver lining was that, aside from the plaza, the city was deserted—no distractions.

But the fact that nothing caught her eye remained unchanged. She flung open doors to empty inns, one after another.

Not here. Not here. Not here either.

Well, in a city with dozens of inns, it was to be expected. For all she knew, Marin could be staying in someone’s house, but Lirit had no way of knowing.

She didn’t fully understand human customs. Out of breath, she stopped to wipe the sweat from her chin.

I should just give up.

The odds of finding Marin like this were—

“Huh? Lirit, is that you?”

—higher than expected. Standing before her now was Marin, strolling down the street without a care, licking a lollipop as if the empty city didn’t faze her at all.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hmm? Oh, I just felt like I should be here.”

Unbelievable. Is that really all there is to it?

“Whatever. Good. I need you to help me with something.”