Alquett’s meal stretched from dusk deep into the night, the sun long swallowed by darkness.

“Done yet? Stop dragging your feet. You’re wasting our time.”

The guarding soldiers grew impatient.

“She won’t live to see tomorrow anyway. Why dawdle like this…”

“Shh—Quiet! Don’t let her hear—”

Whispers drifted from guards stationed farther away at the entrance. Alquett’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. Her eating slowed for a fraction of a second before she casually drained her wineglass, feigning nonchalance.

“I’m finished.”

She patted her stomach, voice raspy with satisfaction.

“What a pain… You lot, hurry up and clear this mess—”

The apparent squad leader grumbled orders at his men. Then, darkness crashed over him and the nearby guards.

*Clink! Clang!*

The sharp crack of beer bottles striking metal echoed—magic-hardened glass shattered through the helmets of soldiers entering the cell to collect dishes, knocking them out cold.

“You dare—?!”

The two gate guards fumbled to raise their spears. Instantly, anti-magic chains slithered from the shadows, coiling tight around them, freezing them in place.

Alquett stepped out of her cell. An eerie crimson glow flickered in her eyes as she murmured—not to the struggling guards, but to herself:

“Yes…

“Only the Bishop can help now…

“The Bishop will believe me—”

Archbishop Johanna Saint-Paul III. The living voice of the Holy Light. Ruler of three border cities, including Flameglow City. Her most trusted mentor.

The Bishop had shown her boundless grace… Since Alquett became the Hero at twelve, Johanna had treated her like a daughter. She’d witnessed Alquett’s journey from orphan to legend.

If others doubted or betrayed her—fine. But the Bishop? She *would* believe her.

The bound guards cursed and tried shouting for backup.

“Silence!”

Alquett stuffed the half-eaten roast lamb leg and empty bottles into their mouths. No time for finesse. She rushed out of the confinement chamber, one thought burning in her mind:

*I must see the Bishop…*

…

…

Johanna Saint-Paul’s city residence.

After finalizing pyre arrangements with a priest, the Bishop returned to her villa’s parlor.

She kicked off her clunky, old-fashioned black liturgical shoes. Her clergy robe slid onto a coatrack. Dressed in loungewear, Johanna stretched lazily, her mature curves spilling from the loose fabric. Delicate straps revealed smooth, pale shoulders.

“Come here.”

Slumped on a leather sofa, she didn’t turn as she commanded the figure behind her.

The girl—who bore an uncanny resemblance to Alquett—shuffled forward like a puppet.

“Massage.”

The girl’s newborn-soft hands settled on Johanna’s shoulders, kneading gently.

“Slower… Harder… Yes~”

Johanna sighed in relief as stiff muscles melted under the girl’s focused touch. She crossed her legs, plucked a grape from a table bowl, and popped it into her mouth.

Tartness burst first, then a thread of sweetness.

*Like those half-ripe girls.*

For years, priests groomed boys for the Church.

Johanna preferred girls—still unripe, untouched.

“Mmm~ That’s enough.”

Johanna shrugged off the girl’s hands, then patted her head like a pet.

“You’re such a good child… Heh~”

Unlike the *real* Alquett… A Bloodline, yes—but worse, she’d never obeyed.

Johanna had hinted endlessly since taking her from the orphanage. Always met with feigned ignorance.

If not for the girl’s brute strength—and her public status as the Holy Sword’s chosen Hero—Johanna would’ve taken her by force long ago.

*No matter. She’s past her prime anyway. Like overripe grapes.*

Johanna scowled, tossing a cluster of fully ripe grapes into the trash.

*Hmph… Blame yourself. Captured by Demonkind? The mighty Hero, humiliated? Pathetic.*

“You’re tired too. Wash up. There’s a new dress for you on the bathroom sink.”

Johanna waved dismissively, still sneering inwardly: *If it were me, I’d never lose to Demonkind. Never be captured alive.*

“Yes, Master.”

The girl bowed slightly, her expression blank, and marched mechanically toward the bathroom.

Her eyes flicked down. A black-and-white French maid dress lay beside the sink.

“…”

The wooden door shut tight. Steam seeped through the cracks. Water *whooshed* urgently over the girl’s soft skin.

Johanna swirled her wineglass, grinning. Her gaze kept darting to the bathroom door. She swallowed several times.

*Can’t wait to devour this one.*

She’d waited longer than usual for this prey.

But the core thrill never changed.

Those untouched girls—confused by their own bodies, trembling with fear and first-time sensations—their faces twisted into the sweetest, most exquisite expressions.

*Especially when devoured by the “Bishop Sister” they trusted so deeply.*

Hundreds had fallen to her. She’d savored every whimper, every tear.

*Spreading faith starts with children,* she justified. *I serve the Light Church in my own way.*

But a *Hero*? Even a clone… such rare quality deserved ceremony. Not rushed like common stock.

*Heh… Later, dressed in that outfit, writhing on my bed… What face will you make?*

*So thrilling~♡*

Johanna drained her glass. A flush spread across her cheeks.

*The real Alquett in that cell?*

*Hmph. A dying monster. Already erased from my mind.*

…

Moments later, the shower’s roar cut off abruptly.

A sharp *crash* shattered the silence—glass breaking at the bathroom window.