The Holy Capital of Borezzo remained ablaze with lights deep into the night.

In the noble district, many like Lelia moved suspiciously after midnight—some even scaling walls.

They weren’t thieves. Once cloaks were shed, they transformed into polished gentlemen. High society’s affairs were tangled, after all.

So Lelia walking alone drew no attention.

At the cake shop "Empress Sweets," she slipped to the back door. Using the Shadow Sect’s coded rhythm, she knocked.

Soon, a strangely dressed old woman opened it. She glanced at the cloaked figure whose face hid in shadow, scanned behind her, then rasped, "Enter, sister. The winds are sharp tonight. You’ve had a hard journey."

After Lelia stepped inside, the woman shut the door and turned a fixed statue nearby. Stone scraped stone, revealing stairs descending underground.

"Follow me," the woman led the way. "Everyone’s below."

Lelia lowered her hood, exhaling softly. "Grandmother… have you seen Elder Believer Vandre and Believer Oak?"

Her master and senior disciple.

The old woman paused, studying Lelia’s face. Her clouded eyes faltered slightly before she nodded. "Both are well. They worry for you. You’ll see them in the cellar."

Noticing Lelia’s relieved expression, she offered a faint smile. "You’re Miss Lelia, aren’t you? They’ve spoken of you."

Lelia blinked. "Yes. I’m Lelia. I’m glad they’re safe."

She breathed deeply, the weight in her chest finally lifting.

Her master and senior disciple’s faked deaths had fooled Silphiel and Grace. That was all that mattered.

Eager to reunite with the two who were family to her, Lelia’s steps grew lighter.

So caught in her emotions, she missed the deep-seated hatred and icy malice in the old woman’s gaze.

The Shadow Sect’s underground meeting hall sprawled wider than the shop above, divided into many rooms.

New to this place, Lelia couldn’t help glancing around curiously.

At the stair’s end, the woman halted with a chuckle. "Wait here, Miss Lelia. I’ll fetch Vandre and Oak. Have some tea—they’re likely asleep. It’ll take time."

Guided to a wooden table, Lelia sat, too buoyant to sense danger.

Magelamps glowed in the midnight cellar, casting light on her flushed cheeks.

Soon, a believer brought black tea. "Premium leaves," he said. "Straight from Yalimasne Island."

Lelia sipped without suspicion, mind already planning ahead.

Her master and senior disciple were safe—but vigilance couldn’t slacken.

The purge of Heretics, having scorched the slums, would soon reach the noble district.

She had to smuggle them out of the city. Let them lie low beyond the Holy Capital until the storm passed. That was safest.

As for assassinating the Hero? She’d abandoned that thought entirely.

Chin propped on one hand, she sipped tea, staring blankly.

Then—the room swayed. Unbearable exhaustion crashed over her.

*Thud.*

Lelia collapsed onto the table, spilling tea across the floor.

—

"Is this the place?"

Silphiel stood armored, warhammer in hand, Divine Court knights encircling "Empress Sweets."

Beside her stood Scout Nun Sophia and the ever-volunteering Rodrika. Having captured Lelia’s two hounds days prior, Rodrika had earned Silphiel’s reluctant tolerance.

The girl obsessed over hunting Heretics, repeatedly begging to join raids. Silphiel, soft-hearted after tearful pleas, finally relented.

*This must be their headquarters.* Sophia’s report confirmed Lelia had entered. *Perfect. I’ll catch her red-handed!*

The thought of that wretch’s suffering swelled Silphiel’s glee.

Sophia’s monotone cut through her thoughts: "She went in recently. No escape."

Silphiel nodded. "You few—guard every exit. Let no one slip past!"

"Who else will join me below?"

Young knights surged forward, eager for glory. Guard duty meant no renown.

Their zeal overwhelmed her. As she hesitated, Rodrika leaned close, whispering:

"Holy Maiden, why waste so many on mere Heretics? Imagine—*you* single-handedly crushing their den. Your fame would soar."

Silphiel considered it. Confident in her strength—and her hidden trump card—she agreed.

"But… isn’t it reckless? Heretics are cunning."

Rodrika patted her chest. "I’ll stand with you!"

Convinced, Silphiel announced: "Your courage moves me! But Heretics are treacherous. Stand guard here. Rodrika and I will handle the cellar."

Protests rose, but Silphiel wouldn’t surrender this chance to shine. *The Holy Maiden’s solo victory* sounded far grander than *with companions*. Rodrika hardly counted.

After soothing the knights, Silphiel smashed the hidden door open. With Rodrika at her side, she descended into the Heretic den.

In the dim torchlight, she missed the strange glint in Rodrika’s eyes.

The cellar entrance yawned like a beast’s maw, swallowing the Holy Maiden whole—