Deep into the night, the Holy Capital still blazed with light. Countless Heretic Inquisitors and cavalry patrols scoured every street and alley, hunting suspicious figures.

After returning to the Divine Court headquarters, Silphiel and her best friend Grace were urgently summoned by the Pope. The Hero was the continent’s hope—his near-assassination at the banquet had alarmed His Holiness. Though the assassin was executed on the spot, accomplices might still lurk in the vast Holy Capital, eyeing the Hero like vultures. Every rat in the gutter must be eradicated.

The Pope’s orders went to the Chief Heretic Inquisitor. But Silphiel couldn’t bear to see Grace overworked, so she volunteered for the Heretic hunt herself. She wouldn’t get to build favor with the Hero for days now. The banquet’s humiliation made her hate Lelia with a burning passion, blaming every shred of shame on that shameless woman. She wasn’t thinking clearly—if she were calm, she’d spot the inconsistencies.

Grace had taken the Inquisition agents out patrolling. Silphiel stayed behind in the headquarters office atop Holy Mountain. From her window, the entire night view of the Holy Capital spread below.

"Hmm," she mused, "if only we caught more criminals who all knew Lelia. With so many testifying against her, how could she deny it?"

Yeah, it was impossible for all Heretics to coordinate their stories.

What was Gao Ying doing after she left the banquet? Probably swarmed by flirty harlots fawning over him.

"Hmph, such a weak-willed guy," she grumbled. "He has me, yet he’s so fickle." She’d dropped so many hints—why wouldn’t he confess?

The Holy Maiden wanted the Hero to confess. Exhaustion washed over her. She laid her head on the desk for a brief nap.

She had no idea Gao Ying had already left the banquet. He was with Lelia’s two "faked-death" relatives, happily finishing them off to grind XP.

Next morning, Grace’s voice woke her. Silphiel yawned widely, stretched lazily, and blinked sleepily. "Oh, Grace. You’re back. How’d it go?"

Grace’s dark circles were worse than hers. She snapped, "What harvest? These Heretics vanish at the first sign of trouble. Impossible to find." After a fruitless night, her mood was foul.

"Well," Grace mused, meeting Silphiel’s gaze, "there was one thing. That Lindbergh woman you’re watching made a new move."

Silphiel jolted awake. "She hasn’t given up? Still planning to assassinate the Hero?"

"No—trouble at her home," Grace said. "Late last night, a fire consumed most of the Lindbergh mansion."

Silphiel’s face darkened. "...Destroying evidence."

Grace snapped her fingers, nodding gravely. "Exactly. She moved fast—all proof is gone. Pinning a crime on her won’t be easy." She paused. "But—"

Grace shifted tone, pulling a letter from her bosom. Silphiel took it, opened it, and found a tourist map of the Holy Capital—an official Divine Court issue sold for one silver coin. Why give her this? Curious, she examined it. Her expression changed slightly. Red X’s marked several spots.

"Could this map be...?"

Grace gave a slight nod. "I thought it a prank at first. But I checked those spots and caught suspicious characters."

"So it really shows Heretic hideouts?"

"Exactly. I’ll raid them one by one. Want to join the hunt?" Grace’s cheeks flushed with a sickly red hue. "These Heretics are fascinating—they sacrifice themselves to cover comrades’ escapes. Sometimes I play along with their acts." Her breathing grew rapid. "Then I let them watch their ‘escaped’ friends die horribly. Their breakdowns, reckless charges, and bodies riddled with arrows... their final struggles with eyes wide in resentment—it’s thrilling."

Silphiel couldn’t approve. She changed the subject. "...This detailed letter must be from a Heretic insider. Did you find the sender?"

Grace shrugged. "Impossible."

Silphiel pondered. "It arrived almost when the Lindbergh fire started. Could that woman have sent it?"

Grace froze. "A compromise? Cutting ties with her past?"

"Very likely. Her ruthlessness rivals yours," Silphiel said, her gaze sharpening. Betraying comrades without hesitation—Silphiel felt inferior. She resolved silently: this woman must die.

Grace touched her cheek, blushing. "Oh, Silphiel, stop flattering me. You’re making me shy."

Silphiel fell silent. She stared at the letter and sneered. "Trying to erase your Heretic past? Do you think I’ll forgive you?" She murmured, "Once a Heretic, always a Heretic. No whitewashing." An idea struck her. She smiled sweetly. "Grace, doesn’t everyone hate traitors?"

Grace nodded.

Silphiel handed back the letter, a cold smile on her lips. "Lift surveillance on the Lindbergh estate. Then loudly proclaim Miss Lindbergh’s righteous act—the glorious execution of two Heretics at the banquet—"

Grace’s eyes lit up. "Then use this letter to capture the Heretics? That way—"

"Exactly. No one forgives a traitor. This woman must not be spared."

As Silphiel sealed Lelia’s fate, a figure flashed past the Heretic Inquisition corridor—Rodrika. She’d only come to deliver the Hero’s letter to the hardworking Holy Maiden. Beyond that, she knew nothing.