Like a river of molten light, the Saint's liquefied staff spiraled around her, each ripple catching and refracting the light in a mesmerizing interplay of brilliance and shadow. Its radiance exuded divine beauty, yet something within that glow was disturbingly wrong—tainted. Reflected in its shine was the grotesque mimicry of surrounding fauna, her twisted forms eerily echoing the staff's movements. Each distortion hinted at a dormant power—immense, uncanny, and terrifying in its purity.

Lili circled the Saint with spectral grace, her movements silent and predatory, like mist coiling through moonlight. Her claws and teeth shimmered with unnatural sharpness, laced in hissing, corrosive [Energy]. Each time they clashed with the Saint's holy staff, its form unraveled—ribbons of sacred matter dissolving on contact. Each encounter forced the Saint to pour even more of her dwindling [Holy Energy] into patching the breach, thus weakening her defenses.

Had it been merely the physical onslaught of the fauna, Luze-Ferris might have found the strength to retaliate or at least escape. But Lili's summoned spirits—wreathed in ominous [Energy]—tore through each freshly conjured barrier the moment it formed. Each specter moved with a unique rhythm, their battle cries shrill with manic glee as they danced across the field, eager to measure their power against sacred defenses.

Throughout it all, Lili maintained relentless pressure on her target, her movements sharp and efficient, yet her eyes occasionally flicked toward her mistress's daughter. That young woman tore through the landscape in a storm of barely contained fury, her volatile blasts ricocheting perilously close. And yet, the spectacle commanded Lili's respect. Marisia wore armor so corrupted, so saturated with madness, that generations before her had been driven to despair—lost, broken, their minds consumed. But she did not just endure it. She bent it to her will, forcing it to obey. The armor wailed in protest, its unearthly cries a testament to her dominance.

"You foul creature!"

The Saint's voice snapped Lili from her musings. Exhaustion etched the woman's already ghastly face; her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, reflected the encroaching specters' laughter, a cruel chorus mocking her divine calling. Each shriek shattered her focus, unraveling any attempt to muster a stronger skill. "You dare!" Her last barrier trembled, delicate and quivering as a soap bubble, and the manifestation of her staff had thinned to a ghostly thread—beautiful, but fading fast.

Lili didn't mind the curses or insults—her strength lay in versatility, a combat style tailored to wear down opponents like the Saint-in-training. With enough pressure and a bit of luck, she might even capture her. A prisoner of such worth would be a considerable achievement—just the thought made the fauna's grin stretch wider.

From afar, as Marisia completed corrupting the guardian angel, her gaze shifted to the Saint's pitiful state—a sight bordering on farcical, considering the awe such champions usually inspired. Under ordinary circumstances, a Saint could flatten entire islands with divine might. Curling her lips into a sharp-edged smirk, Marisia muttered, "Let's finish this." She advanced toward Lili's position—but her instincts flared violently as a sudden burst of white light sliced through the haze. She dropped low in a blink, just narrowly dodging a searing blade that screamed past her temple, its radiance hot enough to blister the air.

"This is getting repetitive," she muttered, voice dripping condescension.

She looked up to see the guardian angel rising, trembling and defiant, its body still shackled by the corrupting [Energy]. Black and red veins pulsed beneath its fractured skin and across its ragged wings, each movement a testament to unbearable strain. Yet it stood. A guttural hiss escaped its throat, warped by pain and fury. "No… yOu wIlL nOt… Go… AnYwHeRe…" Its crippled wings fluttered uselessly as it raised its voice one last time. "RuN, SaInTnEsS…!" And with a final surge of conviction, it reversed its blade and plunged it into its own chest—one last sacrificial defiance.

A blinding surge of divine power erupted outward, tearing a radiant scar through the very fabric of reality. Marisia stumbled back, instinctively raising a braced forearm to shield her eyes as the overwhelming light seared the air. When the brilliance finally faded, the battlefield had shifted—emptied. The Saint was gone. The guardian angel's ultimate act of defiance had bought her a flawless escape, vanishing her from the jaws of certain defeat.

The jungle lay in devastation—cracked earth yawning open, shattered stone scattered like bones, and churned soil bearing the scars of divine fury and demonic corruption. A cold breeze wove through the fractured surfaces, tugging at loose rubble, while torn clouds slithered across a leaden sky, casting the battlefield in a ghostly half-light. Nearby, Lili lay sprawled on her stomach, panting hard. Her fur clung damply to her frame, streaked with grime and sweat. The specters at her feet twitched with restless anticipation, awaiting a command that didn't come. The Saint was gone—utterly. Not even a thread of [Energy] or scent lingered to mark her escape.

"That was new," Marisia said, rolling her neck as if disappointed by the anticlimactic conclusion. "This will be a problem, though."

She knew the Church's zealots—Saints, Heroes, and their ever-growing charge of champions—wielded abilities capable of tilting the fate of entire wars. Some could bend time, even freeze it. But this? This was something else. One had simply vanished, leaving no trail of mana, no flicker of [Energy]—nothing but absence, as if erased from existence itself.

"Lili, are you—?" Marisia turned, intent on checking her companion's condition—only for her instincts to flare, sharp and sudden, like a blade pressed to her throat. Her breath hitched. Something else was here. Something that hadn't left with the light.

A sickening pressure coiled around her ribs, clenching like an invisible vise. The last eruption of holy magic had left a toxic resonance in its wake, humming through her bones like an aftershock. A metallic tang clung to each breath, thick with the scent of scorched flesh—hers and the angel's mingled together in the air. Slowly, she turned, one hand rising to the dented edge of her battered helmet, as if to steady herself against a world still shaking.

"Damn it," she snarled through clenched teeth, every breath ragged with fatigue. Her body screamed with exhaustion, her mind teetering on the brink. One more attack, and she'd have to pour what remained of her sanity into raw survival. "I swear—I'll find you and burn this whole cursed sky down until—"

Her words caught—unfinished, strangled in her throat—as a sudden wave of shadow surged inward, eclipsing everything. Darkness devoured her sight in a single, merciless blink.

———

The training courtyard shimmered under the relentless sun, heat clinging to fur and hair like a suffocating second skin. Each footfall stirred up fine dust, drifting lazily through the air like the last embers of a dying fire. A violet-tinged miasma pulsed faintly, throbbing with something unnatural—an echo of something older than breath. It slipped through lungs, curled into thoughts, and needled at the primal corners of the mind. Some had learned to live with it. Others only pretended to.

"Lisa, focus!"

The voice snapped across the courtyard like a whip. Its source: a poised, formidable woman in an immaculate gown and heels, her red lips sharp against the contrast of scarlet-furred wolf's ears and a meticulously groomed tail. A faint, knowing smile played beneath her stern eyes as she continued her daughter's training—unyielding, unmerciful, and deeply intentional.

"Don't fall behind!" Her voice rang out with a sharp blend of arrogance and pride, each word laced with challenge. Small, conjured bunnies—adorable in form but savage in function—burst from her [Energy] and [Aura], descending on her daughter with ruthless precision. They struck like guided arrows, snapping bones and tearing tendons, each blow leaving another crimson bloom on the girl's once-pristine porcelain skin.

"You have unlimited potential! Use it!" Scarlet snapped, her gaze bearing down with searing intensity on the girl who might become the strongest Leonandra in recorded history.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Elisabeth S. Leonandra, only eight years old, wove through the onslaught with preternatural grace, each step as precise as if she were weaving between raindrops in a hurricane. A silver-white streak lit up her hair and tail, a flash of brilliance in motion. Her bright green eyes shimmered with a mix of joy and iron resolve as she redirected the conjured beasts with fluid, dancer-like movements—every gesture a living illustration of martial artistry.

"Beautiful," whispered a younger girl, barely seven, nestled in the shadow of a tree. A book rested on her knees, her quill poised mid-sentence as she watched with wide, longing eyes. "I wish that was me."

Her name was Marisia. Blue ink smudged her hands and cheeks, but her eyes remained fixed on Elisabeth's flowing form. In her heart, she doubted she could ever rival her sister's effortless blend of power and elegance. Where Elisabeth moved like poetry, Marisia saw herself as footnotes—bright in spirit and sharp in thought, yet always a few steps behind brilliance she could admire but not embody.

"Maybe—" she began.

A high-pitched voice interrupted, brimming with irritation, like someone jabbing her ribs with every syllable. "Maybe what? That the Lady will beat the stars out of you if you even try pulling that off?"

Marisia pivoted, offering a smile that only made the newcomer's frown deepen. "Morning, sunshine," she teased with a sing-song lilt. "Someone's grumpy today. Want to share some tea later, Saly?"

Salyna stared at her, face blank, though her black swan-like wings twitched with barely concealed irritation. "I genuinely wish I were dead," the swan-kin muttered. "Could you try being even slightly less annoying?"

Marisia laughed—a light, ringing sound that drew amused smiles from nearby servants. "Oh, stop being dramatic," she said, handing over the quill with an exaggerated flourish. "Saly, be a dear and hold this for me?"

Salyna stared at her for a beat before snatching the quill in exaggerated irritation. Ink splattered across her dress as she whipped it through the air like a makeshift blade, mid-swing in an imaginary battle. "Fuck! Fuck it all!" she yelled, stomping the ground with the indignation of a wronged fairy tale noble.

Marisia doubled over with laughter, falling sideways as tears pricked her eyes. "I love you, Saly!" she gasped between breathless wheezes, barely able to contain the joy sparked by her friend's melodramatic fury.

A furious flush swept across the swan-kin's cheeks. "Shut up—With all due respect, Ms. Marisia," she snapped, snatching up Marisia's books in a flurry. With wings twitching and dignity fraying, she stormed off, leaving a trail of muttered curses in her wake that echoed through the courtyard like firecrackers.

From farther down the courtyard, another voice bellowed in the same gruff tone. "Did you curse again, you damn fucking brat?!"

Salyna skidded to a halt, glanced around in mock innocence, and bolted in the opposite direction, her voice rising in a pitch-perfect imitation of her sister. "I love you, Daddy!" she called sweetly as she dashed toward the servants' mansion. An older gentleman stormed after her, his black wings flaring wide in agitation. "Don't even try, Saly! If you curse one more time, you're getting five across the ass! Stop, you fucking menace!"

Watching the scene unfold, Marisia barely caught her breath—only for a frown to settle on her face as she glanced down at her clothes. Her once-crisp white shirt was now smudged with dust, her pants browned and dulled, the vibrant sheen of her outfit faded. With a sigh, she stood, adjusting her tie and shifting her feet to settle her summer shoes more comfortably.

"Where was it? Ah!" Circling the tree, she found the small basket she had hidden earlier that morning. With a satisfied hum, she picked it up and made her way toward the training ground, where the session had reached its final stage. Their mother, Scarlet, had just dismissed the conjured rabbits. Marisia instinctively shivered at how the creatures vanished—no puff of smoke, no sound, just gone. Still, she kept her composure as Scarlet delivered her customary praise to Elisabeth, her voice warm but measured.

"Brilliant as always," Scarlet said, her praise swift and clipped before she launched into a fresh wave of critique that made Elisabeth pout and caused Marisia to wince. "But you lose yourself too easily. Stay ahead of the moment—command the space, don't just move within it."

Elisabeth nudged a small stone with her toe, her voice subdued. "Got it," she murmured, though her downcast eyes betrayed the sting behind the simple reply.

Scarlet smiled—a tight, simmering expression that barely concealed the tempest beneath. "Don't even try." In that moment, Marisia felt the air still, as if she were staring down a predator coiled to strike. Her mother's gaze pinned Elisabeth with chilling precision. "This isn't playtime. There's no joy in it, only purpose. But—"

Before she could continue, a theatrical voice rang out from across the yard. "I am the Grandmaster of the blade! Bow before my—ow!" The boast ended in a yelp, followed by a thud, as if its source had tripped over their own ego.

The tension unraveled instantly as all three women turned toward one of their own men—Brutus, a year older than Elisabeth, precariously balanced on a tree branch like a proud rooster on a fence. He was putting on a dramatic show for a Cold-Snout girl three years his senior—a rendezvous—who looked more annoyed than impressed. The yelp had come, unmistakably, from the wooden cup she'd hurled with a perfect aim at his head, now lying beside him as he sprawled unceremoniously at the tree's base.

"Get down, you sword-swinging idiot!" Cecilia shouted, her voice rising with exasperation. "Or I'm telling your dad, I swear!"

Brutus stuck out his tongue. "Next month, I'm training at your place—gonna master the legendary sword art," he declared, puffing out his chest like a rooster's mid-boast. "Then you'll have no choice but to be my concubine!"

Cecilia's eye twitched, [Energy] flaring violently around her clenched fist. "By the core, I'm going to incinerate you, you little bastard!"

Marisia turned to her mother, brow raised. "Aren't you going to help him?"

Scarlet shook her head with a wry smile. "He's got your father's ego—arrogant to the bone. Let that little vixen rattle some humility into him."

A calm voice broke into the moment, carrying a hint of playful challenge. "Am I really arrogant?"

All three women shifted their attention from one disaster-in-the-making to another—Roland, their father, and husband. As always, he wore his casual charm like a second skin. His shirt hung open at the chest, revealing lean muscle honed from years of training. There was a warmth in his green eyes that softened even the harshest moods—an effortless calm that made people feel lighter just by being near him.

"You certainly are," Scarlet said with a smirk, rolling her eyes with practiced fondness.

He clutched his chest dramatically, dropping to one knee with a theatrical groan. "Alas! Forsaken by all! No one loves me!"

Marisia darted forward and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. "I do! I love you, Papa—don't be sad!"

"My daughter!" he exclaimed with an exaggerated grin, pulling her into a dramatic spin.

From a distance, Elisabeth stood frozen, cheeks burning as she tried to hide behind her hair. "Mom," she muttered, flustered as all eyes turned toward the over-the-top reenactment. "How did you fall for him?"

Scarlet's lips curled into a suggestive smirk. "You haven't seen him wield a sword." She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "The grace, the power, the nearly boundless savagery barely held in check—" she trailed off, a blush creeping across her cheeks just as a fresh scream echoed from across the field, mercifully interrupting her reverie.

"Argh!" A loud thump reverberated as Brutus hit the ground, followed by his distressed, near-tearful voice. "Old hag! I'm calling you that till the end of time!" he shouted, sprinting off in indignant retreat.

Roland gave Scarlet a long-suffering look, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "I'll deal with him." He ruffled Marisia's hair affectionately before striding off, leaving Scarlet behind with an appraising glint in her eye and the faintest smile playing at her lips.

"Moments like these keep the pups innocent just a little longer," Scarlet remarked, her voice softer than usual, almost wistful beneath the edge.

Roland shrugged with a calm smile. "Better they learn through laughter and scraped knees than steel and blood."

"Hm," she said, arms crossed and gaze distant. "We'll see about that."

As he walked away, Scarlet retrieved a small flask from her pouch and offered it to Elisabeth. "I need you ready in a week. No excuses." The liquid inside glowed a vivid, dangerous violet, bubbling as if it were alive and barely contained.

Elisabeth's grip on the container tightened, her knuckles paling as doubt crept into her voice. "Do I really have to…?"

"Yes," Scarlet said firmly, jerking her head toward the mansion. "Ipe is waiting. No arguments. Your father is busy training Brutus, and I have you."

Elisabeth glanced at Marisia, worry flickering in her eyes. In response, Marisia lifted the small basket with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry—I'm with you. We'll talk it through, okay?"

Scarlet turned away, her heels striking the courtyard stones with cold finality. Elisabeth clutched the flask like it might bite, her fingers trembling around the glass. Marisia received no glance, no acknowledgment—as if she were air, invisible and unimportant, unworthy of her mother's notice, something she was already used to.

"Mari?" Elisabeth asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think... birds are happy?"

Marisia blinked. "You mean... like swan-kin? Like Salyna?"

"Maybe," Elisabeth said softly, her gaze drifting to the sky as if following invisible wings. "I've always wondered what it feels like—to fly, to just leave everything behind and chase the wind."

Marisia reached out, fingertips trembling, about to clasp her sister's hand—when time fractured. Everything froze. Between them, a specter of holy origin materialized, its form ethereal and flickering like candlelight in a storm. "Interesting," it murmured, drifting through the suspended moment, eyes narrowing as it examined the memory. "Why this scene?"

Its gaze locked on the flask, unsettled by the power within. "Are all beast-kin insane?" it wondered, sensing the lethal cocktail of curses, hexes, and poisons potent enough to burn even a Saint alive.

Then it wavered, as if phasing out of the memory. "I should continue," it decided. "Catch you at your weakest, oh valiant knight..."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.