It was all Gao Ying’s sudden appearance that made me lose my head!

I shouldn’t have overlooked such a detail.

As my instructor, she taught far more than just Divine Arts and combat techniques.

Silphiel could see through almost anyone—but aside from that old man, Shirley was the only one whose depths she couldn’t fathom.

To Silphiel, Instructor Shirley didn’t seem like clergy at all. She smoked, drank, mangled hymns praising the gods, and at the sight of sinners, she’d grab her weapons without hesitation—offering them "physical transcendence."

She seemed less like a true believer and more like a rough-edged mercenary wearing a cleric’s skin.

Six years ago, when Bishop Radel’s scandal broke, Shirley had stood alone against Gregory’s overwhelming faction. She’d chosen Radel without flinching, even urging the Battle Nuns to raise the divine banner with her.

She failed, of course—but she still led a handful of steadfast nuns away.

Only then did Silphiel realize this seemingly careless instructor harbored convictions she’d never abandon.

But—

"Instructor," Silphiel called calmly as she followed, "if you’ve made yourself bait... does that mean the heretics fled the other way?"

Shirley moved like an assassin. If she’d truly wanted to shake Silphiel off, she could have vanished in an instant.

Yet as more clergy closed in, Shirley’s escape grew harder.

Shirley just smirked at the question. "Do you really think I’d answer that?"

Mid-sentence, she flipped over a clocktower ahead. A sleek dagger flashed from its blind spot—Silphiel raised a shield just in time.

"Instructor," she chided, "did you really think that ambush would work?"

*Though honestly,* Silphiel admitted inwardly, *if I’d rushed ahead or been distracted by her words... I’d have taken that hit.*

Smiling while attacking without a trace of killing intent—*truly* Shirley’s style.

"Just saying hello!" Shirley giggled, twirling her dagger. Light glinted off its edge as she hurled more blades. "Of all my students, you’re the most heartless. Who’d have thought the one I trusted least would become the Holy Maiden? Guess good souls die young, while the wicked live millennia!"

Silphiel deflected the throws, oddly cheerful. "Heartless? Wasn’t that *your* lesson?"

Shirley’s voice sharpened. "I meant heartless toward blasphemers and sinners who plague the world! Not toward friends! Not toward comrades!"

As she spoke, Silphiel retaliated. Divine chants echoed—beams of light rained down. Shirley weaved through them like a swallow darting through rain, untouched.

*Her skill still stuns me,* Silphiel thought.

Aloud, she pressed on: "When did I ever call them comrades? Besides—the more heartless you are, the better you play the saint the world expects."

Loving no one meant loving everyone equally.

Only by shedding emotion could the act be flawless.

She paused. "You, who cling to loyalty? Look where it’s led you—sacrificing yourself as bait for others. I don’t understand it. I’m not moved."

Shirley halted on a rooftop, turning back with a sigh. "I’m sorry, Silphiel. As your instructor... I failed to fix your twisted worldview."

Silphiel stopped too, wary. "Who decides what’s twisted? Who defines right and wrong?"

Shirley fell silent. She’d seen this darkness in Silphiel years ago—even visited her decaying estate in Cain’s Port. Found only deaf, aging servants. No answers.

*If only I’d shown her more kindness back then...*

Regret and guilt—that was Shirley’s truth.

Torches flooded the slum alleys below. Heretic Inquisitors. Knighthood patrols. Escape was impossible.

*This is exactly what you wanted me to see,* Shirley thought. *But my foolish student—you never guessed this was* my *trap.*

Living to reunite with the others mattered. She wouldn’t die here.

"Shirley," Silphiel’s laugh rang out, confident, "surrender. You’re surrounded. Resistance will only make your end uglier."

She shook her head pityingly. "How naive. What are common believers compared to you? Without you, what use are they?"

Knights and Inquisitors sealed the perimeter. Among them stood Grace—Silphiel’s closest friend. Grace glanced at Silphiel, then up at Shirley.

The former Battle Nun instructor, silver-haired and moonlit, radiated fierce grace despite her years. Grace’s cheeks flushed. Clad in a crisp white suit, she bowed politely.

"Years since we last met, Instructor. Fate sure loves toying with us. I never imagined I’d have to uphold justice by sending you to the pyre myself."

"Silphiel said the same," Shirley warned. "Grace—stay away from her. You can’t fathom what’s in that woman’s heart."

Grace just smiled. "No need to worry about me, Instructor."

Shirley said no more. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sat cross-legged on the rooftop edge—ignoring the forest of blades below.

"Listening to your student at last?" Silphiel teased. "Giving up?"

Shirley’s golden eyes locked onto hers. "Silphiel. Grace. Ever consider *I* lured *you* here?"

"Look around. Most patrols. Most Inquisitors. All gathered in one place."

As her cigarette butt hit the tiles, runes flared beneath her feet.

Silphiel’s smile froze.