On the other side, a flesh plain covered in bluish-black fascia.

Freya withdrew her gaze from somewhere, smiling as usual, and looked at everyone. "All right, the rest time has been enough. Let's keep moving."

She stood up and continued walking forward.

Behind her, Anne, the little flower atop her head swaying, once again stealthily sidled up to Margarita:

"Hey, have you noticed Freya is a bit off?"

"Elaborate."

Margarita glanced at her, forcibly resisting the urge to yank off the flower.

"She seems so weak. It's been less than two hours and we've already stopped to rest three times. Even a mage isn't that weak, right?"

Anne crossed her arms, scrunching up her little face as she said:

"The time-stalling plan I racked my brains to come up with has had no room to play, because the biggest staller among us is Freya herself!"

"Indeed."

Margarita looked at that slender back.

This most famous saintess candidate... no, former saintess candidate, was now showing an unreasonable frailty—needing to stop and rest after walking a short while, her stamina even worse than an ordinary person's.

She didn't seem nearly as pressed for time as imagined. Rather than trying to pull off something world-shocking, she looked more like she was on a plain old sightseeing trip.

Although this place for sightseeing had absolutely no scenery to see.

In fact, it was utterly nauseating.

"Come to think of it, we've never seen Freya make a move herself." Margarita rubbed her chin, pondering.

"Even earlier facing the prisoner, she'd rather give up a precious item than act personally."

"You mean..."

Anne's eyes lit up; she rubbed her fists, readying herself.

"That for some reason Freya is actually a weakling, and we've got a chance?"

"...Even if she's a weakling, until the control is broken, you don't have any chance."

Margarita mercilessly punctured the proud loli's fantasy, yet her gaze still couldn't help lingering on the little flower bobbing atop Anne's head.

The source of the control was the flower. If she simply plucked it out, what would happen?

Could she break free of the control directly?

No, Freya couldn't be that stupid.

But what's strange is... a lot of her behavior really is somewhat irrational.

For example...

"Move."

A cold voice sounded. Margarita looked back and saw an extremely pale face.

It seemed Freya wasn't the only odd one.

Margarita sighed softly and let her gaze sweep to the abdomen of the former god-servant knight before her.

The wound Freya had inflicted on him earlier still hadn't healed, hadn't even been treated, and was still flowing with fresh blood, as if it would never run dry.

And Bryan himself seemed to have grown extremely weak because of it. Though trained in both magic and martial arts, his movements were even slower than Freya's, often trailing at the very back of the group.

Of course, it might also be deliberate, "to facilitate monitoring them.

"Move."

Bryan spoke again, his tone icy cold.

Margarita said nothing and silently stepped aside.

However, perhaps because he'd lost too much blood, Bryan suddenly stumbled as he passed Margarita and nearly fell.

Margarita instinctively reached out to steady him, but as soon as she touched his arm, he flung her hand off hard:

"Don't touch me, you stinking woman!"

"..."

A vein throbbed on Margarita's forehead.

Stinking? She, a dignified princess of a nation, would still smell fragrant even after hacking a hundred magical beasts to death. How could she be stinking?

But after Bryan finished speaking, he paid her no further heed, limping to catch up with Freya's pace. Freya looked back and said something to him, and from time to time a clear, crisp laugh could be heard.

"Pfft..."

The stupid loli at the side didn't hesitate to let out a snicker.

Margarita shot her a cold glare. After a moment's thought, she suddenly raised the hand that had just tried to support Bryan, brought it to her nose, and gave a light sniff.

In an instant, her willow brows knit tight; Margarita looked at her own hand, her eyes turning slightly vacant.

"This is..."

As if afraid of misjudging, Margarita, suppressing her physical revulsion, again brought her hand to her nose and inhaled hard.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

After confirming what that smell actually was, Margarita looked at that pitch-black back, her expression becoming indescribably complicated.

...

...

"All right, everyone, here we are."

After a trek that wasn't all that long, Freya stopped, and like a professional tour guide, cheerfully introduced what lay before them:

"Ta-da, ta-da, ta-da, ta-da—this is our destination... an altar!"

On the pinkish flesh-formed ground, a pitch-black circular platform suddenly rose up, carved with arcane patterns. No one knew what it was made of, yet it seemed to carry a strange magic that could draw in people's souls.

"An altar?"

Margarita forcibly pulled her gaze away from the altar, cutting off that peculiar feeling as if even her soul were about to be taken, and said darkly:

"Don't tell me you intend to sacrifice us to a dark god!"

Beside her, Anne and Paul also turned pale, staring fixedly at Freya.

"Don't look at me with such scary eyes. How could I do something so terrifying? I'm at least a saintess candidate, aren't I?"

Freya clapped her hands with a light laugh:

"All right, no time like the present. You two, step up together."

With that, Freya stepped onto the altar first.

Under the forced control, Anne, however unwilling, had no choice but to inch her feet forward.

And Margarita, under the threat of the longsword Paul had at her neck, could only give him a look that said I'll deal with you later, then, compelled, walk toward the altar.

"Q-Quick, if there's any way to escape, use it now."

Anne forced her body closer to Margarita, gritting her teeth and whispering.

"If you don't do it now, there won't be any chance."

"If I had a way, I'd have used it already."

Margarita's face was expressionless. "Give me another half hour and I might be able to clear the spores in my body, but as for the control on you two, I still have no means."

"In half an hour a roast turkey would be cold. I saw you think for so long just now—don't tell me you really don't have a single idea?"

"Sorry. Thinking is one thing; getting results is another."

"Useless!"

Anne flared up. "People say big breasts mean no brains. Yours are so small—can't you be a bit smarter?"

"Heh, likewise."

"..."

"..."

Having dealt true damage to each other, the two finally still had no choice but to step onto the altar, while opposite them Freya watched with a beaming smile:

"All right, now, may I ask you to cut your wrists? I need a little of your blood."

"Blood?"

Anne's little face went chalk-white. "Can we not?"

"No."

"I faint at the sight of blood!"

"Even if you do, no."

"Then can we draw more of her blood?"

Ignoring Margarita's icy look, Anne betrayed her companion without hesitation. "She's way heavier than me; she must have more blood."

"Hee-hee, don't worry, Miss Anne, it won't be too much. At least not enough to endanger your life.

So..."

Margarita looked into Anne's eyes and said meaningfully, "This act of playing pitiable to stall for time—better not keep doing it. It has no point."

"Tsk."

Seeing the act fail, Anne's expression turned arrogant again.

But her body was clearly not as tough as her expression and mouth. She had already taken out a sharp dagger and slit her wrist.

Blood tinged with a thread of golden gleam flowed out and merged into the altar.

Margarita did the same, helplessly.

And after the two had cut their wrists, Freya followed suit as well, cutting her own fair wrist.

The three people's blood meandered across the altar.

"This is..."

Watching the paths the blood traced, and putting them together with the altar's patterns, Margarita's pupils suddenly contracted:

"Coordinate locking? This is a coordinate altar!"

"What is a coordinate altar?" Anne asked quickly.

"An altar often used by cultists. Its sole function is... to mark coordinates for the dark gods in this world where their true bodies cannot arrive..."

Margarita looked at Freya in terror. "Your goal... no, I should say the God of Love's goal is to let a dark god descend here?"

"...Truly worthy of the Platinum Princess, Miss Margarita. Your breadth of knowledge is indeed wide."

Freya lowered her lids slightly, watching those threads of flowing blood begin to gather in the center of the altar, forming a small lake of crimson, and said softly:

"That's right. This is a coordinate altar. Its purpose... is indeed to set the coordinates for a certain existence."

"Then why use our blood?"

Margarita asked in confusion. "We have nothing to do with dark gods."

The premise for marking coordinates is that the offered item must be related to dark gods—either power left behind by dark gods or something tainted by them. Only using those as a lure can a dark god be summoned.

But what could their blood summon? A magical girl?

Freya didn't answer directly; instead, she suddenly bent down and stroked the altar:

"This altar's original function was not locating, but... prayer."

"What?"

"The people of this country once, day and night upon this altar, prayed to the goddess they believed in.

They prayed for salvation, prayed for forgiveness. Sadly, there was no response. Do you know why?"

"Because..."

Without waiting for Margarita to answer, Freya went on of her own accord:

"This nation was banished—banished by the first Saintess, personally."

"Exile? So that's the origin of The Lost Land?"

Margarita froze: "But why? Why would the first saintess exile this place—aren't the people here all devotees of the Goddess?"

"The opposite."

"The opposite?"

"Yes—similar, yet the opposite."

Freya lifted her head to gaze at the serene pale moon and sighed. "This truly is the darkest black-humor joke in this world."

"Similar... yet opposite..."

Countless complicated thoughts surfaced in Margarita's mind; gazing at the nauseating land in the distance, she felt as if she'd seized the loose end of something.

But at this moment, she forced herself not to think further, for even if she knew the answers to such questions, they would be useless to their present predicament.

"The first saintess... so that's why you would use our blood?"

"Yes. Only saintess blood can pierce the 'Wall' and send coordinates outward."

"But we aren't saintesses yet."

"Close enough."

Freya said softly, "Raised from childhood as saintess candidates, we've undergone the holy light's baptism several times; saintess blood has long flowed in our veins—we're only missing the final rite."

"So if the quality isn't enough, you make up for it with quantity?" Anne cut in, eyes wide.

"That's right."

Freya praised her. "Miss Anne is truly clever."

"Hmph." Anne let out a prim, chilly snort, asserting her presence.

Margarita lowered her head to look at the wound on her wrist.

Though she'd warned them not to drag things out, Freya seemed utterly unconcerned with the little movements they made.

Thus the cut on her wrist was actually not large; at least the blood was not flowing too fast.

This way, she shouldn't lose too much blood in the short term.

Margarita drew a deep breath, snapped her head up, and looked at the girl before her who had driven events to this point, and said earnestly:

"Freya, stop. It's not too late."

"Oh?"

As if not expecting Margarita to say such a thing, Freya asked in puzzlement:

"Why?"

"Because I know... you're still a good person, deep down."

"..."

The space fell into a brief silence; everyone stared blankly at Margarita with expressions of "what nonsense are you spouting."

Even Freya tilted her head, showing a girlish, dazed sweetness:

"What are you talking about? I did do those excessive things, you know."

"That's right, that's right!"

Anne nodded vigorously at the side. "What she did was so vile—so many people lost their heads because of her. How can you say she..."

"Yes, many lost their heads because of her backstabbing and those death-pact writs. And then what?" Margarita suddenly asked.

"Then, then of course the teleportation scrolls were triggered, and those people were sent away, and then..."

Anne suddenly fell silent, for she too had noticed a certain fact.

"And then... had their injuries healed by the Church," Margarita finished for her:

"Freya, didn't you say as much to Moen Campbell earlier? With the Church's capabilities, even if a neck is severed, as long as it's within a short time, they can bring one back.

So those people looked like they came to a tragic end, but in reality... like the others, they were merely eliminated."

Saying this, Margarita couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. "A dignified dark god believer, scheming so painstakingly to this point, and in the end not a single person has died. Miss Freya, your destructive power doesn't even compare to my eighty-year-old grandmother—at least she still goes into the forest now and then to pinch a monster or two to death for fun."

"..."

Freya fell silent.

"Having said that, let's talk about another matter."

Margarita continued:

"Just now we spoke of the God of Love's aim; now let's talk about... your aim, Freya."

Freya's expression finally shifted a little.

"Your goal is..."

Margarita didn't continue looking at Freya, but turned her head toward the one at her side... Bryan:

"To save, or rather... to resurrect this knight of yours. Am I right, Miss Freya?"

"Resurrect?"

Feeling completely unable to keep up, the flower atop Anne's head shook so hard its petals were about to fly off. She asked, bewildered:

"What do you mean resurrect? Isn't this guy alive and well right in front of us?"

"No. Bryan is indeed still before us, but that doesn't mean he, as he is now, is alive."

The shocking words crashed like thunder, jarring everyone's auditory nerves.

Paul was the first to react. He recalled some earlier oddities. "Could it be..."

"That's right—just as you're thinking."

From beginning to end, the most abnormal person was not Freya, but her divine attendant knight, Bryan.

For instance, the notorious Shadow Ghost, famed for ruthlessness, only hid behind and cast magic furtively.

For instance, his complexion was so pale he didn't look alive at all, and he always hid in Freya's shadow, unable even to bear bright light.

And for another, though he looked weak, he had quite literally bled for several hours; not even the strongest warrior could manage that.

And those spores drifting up from his blood... what is the best incubator for spore propagation?

The answer—corpses.

"...When did you see through it?"

"Not long ago. I smelled the stench of a corpse on him."

"But I clearly used so much floral scent to cover it..."

"A scent can only mask, not neutralize—and as it happens, perfume appreciation has been compulsory coursework for me, a princess, since childhood."

"I see..."

Freya rubbed her temples, knitting her willowy brows, and let out a desolate long sigh:

"But even knowing all that, so what? This secret won't affect the outcome in the least."

"I don't understand why you'd do this—turn to a dark god to save him? You could plainly rely on the Chur—"

"It's useless."

"Eh?"

"The Church cannot save Bryan."

Freya said gently, "I know better than you, Margarita, where the Church's limits lie. They can cure the vast majority of illnesses in this world, replace organs for those at death's door, even rescue someone whose head has fallen, so long as it's within a short time.

But... even the Church...

They cannot save a soul on the verge of shattering."

"So you pin your hopes on a dark god?"

"Yes. That's how I thought of it." Freya nodded.

"I still can't understand!"

Margarita said sharply, "Abandon a saintess's seat at arm's reach, abandon everything, even stain yourself with the crime of betraying humanity, just for... for...

Is it worth it?"

"Of course. It's worth it."

Freya looked into her eyes and said.

"..."

In that moment, Margarita understood that no matter how she tried to persuade, it would be useless.

The woman's eyes told her as much.

"What about you?"

Margarita turned to Bryan. "Freya has abandoned everything for you. Are you truly willing to bear this sin?"

"I..."

A low growl rumbled from Bryan's throat. His whole body trembled; his lips writhed as if he wanted to say something.

But what came out in the end was still meaningless sound; Bryan said nothing.

He only showed an indescribably complicated expression.

Pain, bewilderment, remorse... so tangled that Margarita could not comprehend it—at least not now... not yet.

"It's all right, Bryan. It has nothing to do with you. This is merely my personal choice, so you need not suffer."

Freya gently stroked Bryan's face. "It's all right. It will be over soon."

She rose and walked forward.

She went to the altar's center, before the small pool of blood where the blood had gathered.

She lowered her head.

In the blood, her reflection was mirrored.

Her hands were folded before her lower belly; her back was straight—composed, elegant, sacred.

And that reflection suddenly changed.

The lips that had been faintly upturned curved more exaggeratedly, becoming eerily strange.

And those gentle eyes turned pitch black.

At that moment, an ethereal hymn rose up; from heaven, from earth, from the blood pool there suddenly rang a vast, august, inhuman yet universally intelligible strange tongue.

[Freya, is it complete?]

"Yes. Only the last step remains, Lord God of Love."

The other three froze at once, their faces blanching.

Dark God · Corrupted God of Love!

Had actually appeared before them.

Fortunately, it seemed to be only a feeble remnant image.

[Thou hast done well, Freya.]

The reflection smiled, grotesque and exaggerated; that icy laughter made one's skin crawl.

[Then let us begin—the final step.]

"Yes."

Freya answered respectfully, then bent down, reached out, and slowly extended her hand toward the pool of blood.

In that moment, all breathing ceased, for everyone understood that when that fair small hand touched the blood pool, something dreadful would surely happen.

Even the reflection in the blood pool couldn't help but show anticipation.

But...

When it was less than a centimeter from the pool of blood, that hand suddenly halted.

Freya lowered her lashes and, with presumption, fixed her gaze upon that deity:

"Lord God of Love, according to our agreement, before I complete the last step, shouldn't you... fulfill your promise?"

[Dost thou presume to instruct Me?] The reflection's gaze was cold.

"I wouldn't dare. I merely think that even humans speak of keeping their word; as the supreme deity, Lord God of Love, you should also honor it."

[Of course.]

The reflection suddenly smiled.

[I shall of course fulfill My promise.]

From within the pool of blood, a blood-red glimmer suddenly popped out and sank into Bryan’s body.

Bryan’s body convulsed for a moment, and then, before the naked eye, a flush of blood surfaced on his face.

Freya joyfully grasped Bryan’s hand, stroked his cheek; she could feel the warmth that belongs to the living, bit by bit appearing on this formerly icy body.

But...

"Lady Freya..."

Bryan looked at Freya, his lips trembling violently, as if struggling against something, his gaze wracked with agony.

"Bryan?"

He was clearly able to live again, so why did his eyes look even more tormented?

[Ah, right, Freya.]

The reflection in the blood pool suddenly spoke:

[In view of how diligent you have been, I shall tell you a secret.]

"A sec...ret?"

Freya stiffly turned her head.

[Yes, a secret.]

The reflection suddenly leaned close to the blood’s surface, as if whispering by Freya’s ear, and softly said:

[I have indeed temporarily repaired his soul, but in fact... his soul had long since already, completely, belonged to me.]

"Wha...t?"

Freya’s eyes widened little by little, her pupils shrinking bit by bit. She lowered her head and looked at the reflection:

"What... did you say?"

[That man, a long time ago, proposed an exchange to me. I fulfilled it, so his soul now is mine.]

[Otherwise, did you really think that by stuffing your own magic and essence into that body, you could make that body, which was already about to rot, successfully move again?]

[What kept him going until now was me.]

Word by word, like knives, carved into the heart.

Freya turned her head again; she had never turned so slowly, as if every creak of her joints was clearly audible by her ear.

"Bryan, what... did you wish for?"

"I..."

Bryan’s expression was grief-stricken: "I wanted to help you, Lady Freya... to become a saintess."

Freya parted her lips and said blankly, "So, back then, that look on your face was because of this?"

Bryan nodded: "I’m sorry, Lady Freya. I wanted to say it then, but I... couldn’t."

Of course he couldn’t, because that was precisely the dark god’s perverse amusement.

"I see..."

Freya’s delicate body trembled; her once-straight back gradually bent, as if her whole being were being crushed.

She leaned against Bryan’s chest and said softly:

"But my wish was to save you."

Bryan’s face was streaming with tears.

...

[Yes, that’s it... that’s it!]

In the blood pool, the reflection twisted and writhed in madness, as if dancing a strange and excited dance.

[How... exquisite!]

Love.

Parting.

Hatred.

Pain.

Regret.

Despair.

Heart-rending.

Gut-wrenching.

Sought yet never gained.

Gained only to lose again.

Like a blooming crystal flower, opening in the light, then at its most beautiful moment, shattering.

This is—twisted love, corrupted love!

"Lord God of Love, you seem very happy."

At some unknown point, that slender, delicate figure had once more come to the edge of the blood pool, looking down at the reflection.

[Hm?]

The distorted reflection instantly smoothed; that sacred yet bewitching face met the gaze of another pretty face exactly the same as it.

[Why?]

The god’s remnant shadow stared at that face and, for the first time, voiced a question it could not comprehend.

[Why are you still smiling?]

Before the blood pool, Freya sat cross-legged at ease, her former elegance gone, her back looking a bit hunched.

Yet on that face, at the corners of that mouth, there still was the same sacred, gentle, as-if-from-beginning-to-end-never-changing... smile.

And yet, just moments ago, she had endured the cruelest pain in this world.

"Of course I should smile."

Freya said softly:

"There is already so much pain in this world. Why should I add even a fraction more to it?"

[You...]

As if sensing something, the reflection in the blood pool suddenly grew hideous:

[You still want to resist? Impossible! At this point, I can easily pollute your soul!]

The blood pool surged; countless blood threads crept along Freya’s body, invading her flesh and blood.

But very quickly, those blood threads reversed and retreated, turning into a powerless, furious reflection.

[How is this possible? The soul... where is your soul?]

"My soul is right here."

Freya smiled slightly and pulled out a dark-gold cone.

"an ancient relic, the Demon-Sealing Spike. I hid my soul inside it. This body likewise is nothing but an empty shell."

That was why she was so weak.

"After all, you are the famed God of Love. How could I trade with you without making extra preparations?"

[Impossible! To strip out the soul and hide it in a dead thing—how could a human possibly endure such suffering! How could they!]

The reflection roared.

To place one’s soul within a dead object—that is torment and agony so severe that even that prisoner who has weathered who knows how many ages would be driven to cry out in pain and beg for salvation.

Let alone the pain of actively rending the soul from the body.

"It was very painful."

Freya pressed a hand to her chest and said:

"But compared to the time when I lost him, it’s nothing."

Freya gripped the Demon-Sealing Spike, her expression going dazed for a moment.

She recalled the question Moen had asked her not long ago.

"A follower of the God of Love? No, Mr. Moen."

Freya murmured to herself.

"What I believe in... is love."

Without hesitation, she drove the cold spike into her heart.

"With the whole of this body, I ask You for the power of sealing."

Freya spoke that incantation.

At the same time, Bryan suddenly said:

"And me—take everything of mine as well."

Freya looked at him with adoration and did not refuse.

[But]

Blood flowed. The spike’s tail suddenly unfurled, like a blooming black lotus.

At the lotus’s center, a crimson pupil turned, locking onto the reflection in the blood pool.

[No! No! Mere ants! You cannot! You cannot!]

The reflection screamed and struggled in frenzy, turning into a twisted blood-red sphere, trying to flee.

But it was already useless.

What was here was only a feeble remnant of power.

And so when the lotus folded shut again, both the blood pool and the reflection had completely vanished.

Between heaven and earth, the moonlight was bright, and all was silent.

...

"Cough, cough..."

Freya, the spike still lodged in her chest, looked to the side and said apologetically:

"I’m sorry to have made you watch a farce."

"No..."

The few who had regained their freedom looked at one another, suddenly unsure what to say. After a long moment, they bowed their heads together in respect.

"I’ve done nothing worthy of respect. On the contrary, I almost got you all harmed."

Freya gave a helpless, wry smile, then quickened her speech:

"There isn’t much time, so I’ll be brief."

"Things aren’t over yet. You must go to that tower."

"The tower?"

Margarita frowned, looking toward the hazy giant tower in the blood mist.

"To the base?"

"No. Mr. Moen and Miss Lea have already gone to the base. You are to protect the tower from outside."

"Protect it? Who is the enemy?"

"You’ll know very soon."

Freya raised her head and looked at the bright moon.

In the air, a faint nauseating stench was already beginning to surface.

"The aberration is about to begin. Go, quickly."

"...All right."

They no longer hesitated and sped toward the giant tower.

Freya lowered her head again and looked toward a certain spot:

"One more thing. The evil cultists who came here may number more than just me. I previously encountered someone who was killed before the teleportation scroll even triggered—that should be that person’s handiwork.

"So... be careful."

...

...

After everyone had left, silence returned once more.

With nothing left to watch, Freya could only lift her head again to gaze at the bright moonlight.

"So beautiful, just like when I first met you."

"Mm, back then, there was just as much blood all around."

...

"You seem injured. Do you need me to heal you?"

"No? Hmm, you’re clearly almost dead... what a cold fellow."

...

"Wow, you can even cook? Wonderful. From now on, this grand task is all yours."

"How strange. I can decoct excellent medicine, yet I can’t even manage porridge. Is this proof that the goddess is too fair? No talent for cooking? I refuse to admit that."

...

"I’m going south. I heard a plague has broken out there. Are you coming?"

"Oh my, oh my—clearly you said you wouldn’t go, yet you still secretly protected me. What a prickly yet soft-hearted man."

...

"Rest? I do rest a full two hours a day."

"Once I finish perfecting this medicine I’ll definitely rest well, but right now, many people are waiting."

...

"Great, the plague is cured. Want to go to the seaside together? I hear the beach here is lovely."

"The seaside is truly beautiful, but why are you still hiding in the shadows at a time like this?"

...

"You ask what my dream is? Hmm... of course, to become a saintess. I’ll tell you a secret: I am a saintess candidate. Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?"

"You say you want to help me? All right, from now on the job of protecting me is yours. I’m not much good at fighting, and lately I feel like someone wants to harm me. Mm, my personal safety will all depend on you."

"You truly... protected me very well."

"My Bryan."

...

...

The moonlight gradually grew hazy, and her body gradually grew cold.

What she had just promised away was being taken from her, little by little.

"It's so dark, Bryan. Are you still there?"

A warm hand stroked her cheek.

"I'm here."

"So warm... In my memory, you don't seem to have ever been this gentle before."

The girl lovingly stroked that broad hand and asked softly:

"I'm sorry. Even though I saved so many people, I still can't save you."

"Even so, will you still stay by my side like this, my Bryan?"

"Of course."

That voice said, so resolutely:

"I will always stay with you, my... Freya."