Inside the tall and profound temple, corpses lay scattered everywhere.
Countless warriors’ bodies sprawled chaotically from the entrance, their scorching blood spreading up toward the temple, pooling beneath the eerie blue moonlight throne.
The girl sitting atop the throne smiled as she put away the magic wand in her hand.
Her delicate face bore a trace of composure as she looked directly at the lone figure standing below the steps, seemingly intent on provoking her.
“Is this what you wanted? Succubus Via, in the face of such death, such destruction… you actually manage to smile?”
Beneath the throne, the Saintess in a long dress asked angrily, questioning the demon who had slaughtered countless warriors.
Her pristine white dress was stained blood-red with her comrades’ blood, exhaustion causing her ample chest to heave relentlessly.
The hem of her gown was torn, exposing the fresh blood and soft skin beneath—adding a tragic kind of beauty.
“Oh my, Miss Saintess, you wound me with your words. To see you, I had to break through the entire defense line, and besides, it was you who wronged me first.”
Succubus Via, one of the new Thirteen Demon Lords, was the weakest among them but also the most troublesome.
This demon race already understood humans far better than other demon tribes, and especially showed an almost obsessive interest in the current Central Saintess, Cecilia.
“Lord Via Coren, what exactly happened to make you become like this…”
The Saintess’s expression grew complicated as she looked at the succubus before her.
“Via Coren is dead, Your Saintessship. It was the Church that killed him,” Via said with a mocking smile, her slender fingers gently using magic to sweep away the surrounding corpses.
“The one standing here now is only Demon Lord Via. Should I remind you? The Church and those nobles shamefully betrayed me… If they hadn’t passively watched the war worsen, most of my comrades and I could have survived.”
“It was those high and mighty people who destroyed everything.”
Via’s words left the Saintess speechless.
Fifty years ago, due to the Church and secular nobles’ constraints, they tacitly chose to watch Via Coren and the Crusader Army he led perish—after all, no one wanted such a powerful human army to fall into the enemy’s hands.
Saint Via Coren ultimately died by a scheme set by his own people.
Even his burial site did not rest in peace these past fifty years; just five years after his death, the demons had already occupied his tomb and dug up his body.
What happened afterward, a tragedy deeply regretted by humanity, is well-known—the Demon King used the hero’s remaining flesh and blood to reshape and transform a succubus girl’s body, fusing the soul of the battlefield-preserved hero into it—
Thus was born Demon Lord Via.
“What we have always followed was never a single Church or a single deity, but the morals and faith we all agreed upon. Via, I understand your pain, but no matter what you’ve gone through, it must end now. I will defeat you honorably.”
The blade in the Saintess’s hand shone brilliantly.
That familiar light, now the greatest threat to Via, accompanied Cecilia’s resolute words.
Via lightly shook her wand:
“I must admit, compared to our last duel, you’ve made quite the progress. But breaking through my minions must have drained a lot of your strength. Do you still have the energy to fight me now?”
The sharp sword light tore through the succubus’s sturdy defense.
The Saintess’s graceful figure, carrying the aura of death, pressed ever closer.
Though exhausted and wounded, her momentum seemed unstoppable.
In Via’s vision, five slashes came at her simultaneously—not magic nor any illusion technique, just a simple, brutal, deadly flurry of five strikes delivered with speed far beyond human limits.
Having long fought demons, Cecilia was well familiar with their behavior, but this demon could not be measured by common sense.
She abandoned her usual Holy Techniques and forced close-range combat to create a killing opportunity.
Via paused briefly, eyes fixed on the five sword beams.
Cecilia caught the hesitation—it seemed like doubt or surprise—but she would hesitate no longer; at least, she must disable this demon.
However, Via’s pause was not for those reasons.
—Someone actually learned that move of mine?
Then, before the Saintess’s incredulous gaze, six cold blades formed from Via’s palms appeared, deflecting all five attacks.
The extra blade grazed Cecilia’s shoulder; after a brief dull ache, her arm grew heavy and numb.
“How could this be…”
“This is a trade injury technique—risking wounds to close in quickly and slash a large area with minimal cost. It doesn’t require talent or chance, just two words: courage.”
“You’ve grasped the essence, but you’re still a bit short.”
Via smiled and stepped close to the Saintess, close enough to smell her elegant fragrance.
This was the most famous move from when she was still Saint Via Coren.
Using this, he had slain no fewer than a hundred powerful demons.
Everyone tried to learn his technique, but most failed to advance beyond a certain point.
Yet this young Saintess had mastered it.
“Today is a good day. Seeing your great progress is truly moving. If your strength hadn’t been exhausted by my minions, perhaps I would have been killed by you today.”
The succubus’s smile blossomed like a flower.
She stepped back two paces, looking at the Saintess who could now fight with only one arm, then bowed slightly and extended her silk-gloved palm:
“To celebrate your progress, how about a dance?”
“Slap.”
Almost instinctively, the Saintess swatted away the succubus’s hand.
Though soft and slender, the thought that this hand belonged to the killer of so many warriors made Cecilia unwilling to touch it.
Even if the succubus was so beautiful.
Vya withdrew her hand helplessly.
“Alright, alright, looks like you’re sticking to your boundaries. But I’m already very satisfied, Your Saintessship. At least now, when I invite you, you no longer break my wrist with enhanced spells like the first time.”
She used her wand to lift the Saintess’s chin, admiring the stubborn look on her cute little face.
Suddenly, a holy light illuminated everything around them, shining brightly on Via, bringing an uncomfortable burning sensation.
When the light faded, the Saintess’s figure had vanished.
“A new escape method, huh… She’s really working hard, I like that.”
Via was not angered by her opponent’s escape. She hadn’t intended to kill the Saintess outright.
As for the demons’ so-called world conquest ambitions, honestly, she didn’t have such grand ambitions anymore.
Now, she only thought about having fun.
Having suffered a shameful betrayal, she was determined not to repeat it.
After living a suffocating life last time, she decided this life would be about joy.
After all, accepting her identity as a demon didn’t mean she thought that damned Demon King was a good person.
The Demon Race wasn’t her legacy—she didn’t care whether the Demon King lived or died.
***
Holy Church Nation, Papal Palace.
Cecilia stepped down from the carriage and entered the Papal Palace under the escort of knights.
For the faithful, entering the Papal Palace was an honor most ordinary people, even clergy, wouldn’t dare dream of.
It was the core decision-making body of the entire Holy Church, where countless decisions shaping the history of the Church Nation were decreed.
But for the Saintess, it was just an “office.”
“His Holiness the Pope should still be inside, right?”
In the hall, she turned to the knight beside her.
“…Of course.”
The knight seemed slow to respond.
Cecilia frowned but didn’t care about the knight’s dull reaction, simply patting his shoulder.
“Thank you for your service. I’m going to the prayer chamber to discuss the frontline situation with His Holiness.”
With that, she began walking toward the familiar prayer chamber.
A few steps up the stairs, she frowned again and looked down.
Below the stairs, the knights still closely followed behind her.
“Is there something?”
Cecilia looked at the knights who hadn’t even removed their armor, puzzled.
“No.”
“…Maybe I wasn’t clear.”
Cecilia smiled patiently.
“What comes next involves secrets. I must meet His Holiness alone.”
“Understood.”
The knights verbally agreed but still stayed close behind her.
“…Be honest with me, is His Holiness really inside?”
“…”
The knights remained silent.
Cecilia faintly heard footsteps outside the Papal Palace.
Of course, compared to the footsteps, what unsettled her more was the silence of the knights.
Knights—the elite of humanity—held deep faith and reverence for the Saintess as a representative of the divine, and they wouldn’t easily lie to her.
So when they were silent, it meant they neither wanted to lie nor could tell the truth.
Cecilia’s hand reached for her waist.
The Holy Sword was ready in its sheath.
They… no, the Church, had already given her the scent of betrayal.