“Traitor?! What right do you have to call me a traitor, Merlin? You’re the—” Her snarl broke like a snapped bowstring.

Freya stared at Merlin, her face twisted like a cracked mask; the words she meant to spit dried like dust.

Merlin didn’t answer; he was calm as a winter lake. He watched in silence, waiting for her next barb to fall like hail.

“Speak. Why’d you stop? Need me to remind you?” His voice cut like cold iron.

Merlin stepped close, his blood-stained finger tracing an array on her body; his tone held no anger, only frost.

This eerie calm made Freya shut her mouth. In her memory, this topic always sparked Merlin into a wildfire.

He’d even lash out at the Tower spirit, yet now he was cold enough to scare her like midnight snow.

To Freya, it was the hush before a storm. She refused to die, and tried to shake his resolve.

“Think it through—if this truly succeeds, will you be spared? Merlin, look around; isn’t this world brighter than before?”

Merlin ignored her and kept drawing the array, pulling the silver-white radiance without restraint; pain bit deep, and Freya grew frantic.

She tried to quietly stir the breath of nature, but the silver-white woman turned her gaze like a blade.

A faceplate hid those eyes, yet Freya’s instinct screamed; the silver-white woman watched her, ready to strike if she twitched.

Thinking of that, Freya grit her teeth, swallowed the pain, and pressed the natural power down like a coiled spring.

“Wise,” Merlin said when she reined in nature. The word pricked her skin; she watched him near the end of the array.

“What did that mean?! Can he sense such tiny moves, like a puppeteer? Is everything in his hands?!”

Questions flashed like sparks, but the array was about to finish; she had no time to think and blurted out:

“Merlin! If not for yourself, then think of the Star Remnant!”

Merlin finally stopped, his cold eyes stabbing into her green ones; the look stung like thorns.

“Had you not meddled, the plan would’ve gone smooth; her fate wouldn’t suffer further interference.”

His voice stayed even, no fury in it, yet his heart heaved; the brilliant glow overhead rippled like shaken water.

He didn’t add to her pain; he spoke like ice.

“By rights, you should be the staunchest ally; yet now, you’re worse than an outsider like me.”

A thin smile curled on Merlin’s lips, razor-sharp; he saw her face darken, then penned the last stroke and turned to go.

The crimson array on Freya’s skin glowed dangerous. The silver-white radiance withdrew, and she hit the ground like a dropped stone.

Her wounds were already knitting like moss over rock.

The silver-white woman stood, eyes empty of Freya’s existence, and walked away like a moon ignoring a wave.

Watching their backs, Freya’s gaze filled with poison. Her pale palms smeared with blood; stabbing pain still drummed in her body.

She rose without hesitation, summoned vast nature with a ruinous vow, and aimed a final strike at the retreating two.

She’d make those arrogant fools taste how mad divine revenge could be.

As nature swelled, Freya’s smile grew deranged; twisted trees burst from earth like snarling beasts, eager to shred at her command.

“You… have a cruel taste,” the silver-white woman said, voice stiff behind her faceplate; the pair hadn’t moved at all.

Merlin still stood before Freya, the silver-white woman at his side like statues.

And Freya… still hung in silver radiance, eyes shut in pain; red Runes covered her, and green light drained into Merlin’s staff.

“I only gave her a chance,” Merlin said with a bitter curl. He’d never meant to spare her or allow a counterstrike.

“Even endless years can’t rub out their arrogance; I showed her mirage and knives. Traitors don’t earn easy redemption.”

The deeper he spoke, the lower his voice sank, like embers smothered; the silver-white glow warped a heartbeat, then steadied.

The silver-white woman seemed to agree, even nodded; she didn’t flinch at his brief burst of rage and shadow.

“They… all… should… die!” Her words clanked like a machine, yet that final die crashed out with her whole will.

As green light withdrew, vines crawled over Freya, wrapping a boneless body; she shrank slowly like a closing pod.

Merlin let out a breath, the knot in him loosening; he was almost done extracting her power, and she still didn’t wake.

“What… should… we… do?” asked the silver-white woman, the question cold as rain.

Merlin blinked, then sighed like wind through pines.

“Since it’s happened, let it happen,” he said, gaze misted like rain. “She isn’t the only variable. Keep her shallow, and the future may hold.”

She nodded and fell quiet like snow. After a pause, she walked toward the forest’s edge without a backward glance.

When she left, Merlin breathed heavy and went silent. The whole forest pulsed with dim green light like a hidden heart.

“Aphelia, want to see what a city in the Demon World looks like?”

After their midday talk, Lilo invited Aphelia as she trained her control, like tuning strings.

“Cities of the Demon World?” At that, Aphelia’s interest flared like a spark.

In Nero’s Blackhold, she’d seen many races share streets like rivers joining; shadows aside, that sight alone spoke of wonder.

As a wandering Hero, she’d watched races push and pull like tides; she’d seen blood’s iron and kindness’s light.

So her stance toward the Demon World was softer than most, like a palm over a blade.

And it was Lilo inviting… well, fair’s fair; heart and reason both said don’t refuse.

“Then… I’ll ask Senior Lilo to guide me?” Aphelia rose, smiling like spring rain.

Their bond felt subtle, like thin glass. To sum it up—there was the sour-sweet smell of budding love in the air.

Seeing her smile, Lilo’s cheeks flushed like peach petals; she composed herself, stepped behind Aphelia, and nudged her toward the dressing room.

“Come on, Aphelia, you’re way too eye-catching,” she said, trying to shade a lantern with her hand.

“Huh? Eye-catching? I don’t feel it at all.” Aphelia’s confusion sat on her face like a child’s.

Lilo sighed inside, words drifting like smoke.

Since gaining True God power, Aphelia’s already fine looks carry a magic lure, spilling like wine with every gesture.

The strong can hold against it. Weaker—weaker relative to Aphelia’s tier—even a Titleholder feels a tug; below that, they drown.

Lilo had thought it was controlled power; clearly it wasn’t, so disguises were needed like clouds over moonlight.

Soon they wandered the imperial capital’s streets, drifting through a long stream of people like leaves in a river.

Watching passersby, Aphelia felt a quiet ache like old letters. An adventuring trio laughed, a human chatting with demonfolk.

Most sat beyond the advanced tier; one neared Titleholder. Aphelia sent a wisp of intent to sense, and her eyes widened.

She leaned close to Lilo, breath soft as mist, whispering by her ear.

“Lilo, is the average strength in the Demon World really this high?”

“Of course not,” Lilo whispered, a smile warm as a hearth.

“I don’t know the human realm well, but we aren’t this strong on average.”

“Today’s a special day.”