Under the breathless gazes of the crowd, the towering sword—nearly as tall as Noah—absorbed the jet-black death ray into its blade.

A pure white light shimmered across the steel. With a casual flick of her wrist, Noah dispersed it like shaking dewdrops from a leaf.

Harmless sacred energy scattered into the air like fine sand, vanishing without a sound.

The sword’s glow faded, leaving its exquisite blade gleaming like polished artistry once more.

This was one of the three holy artifacts wielded by the Healing Saintess Noah: the Sword of the Worthy, the Blueblood Blade, the Chaste Sword, the Polaris Reversal Sword.

The moonlit demonic blade shimmering with starlight—its name was "True World."

"Ahh... ahh..."

Silva’s voice grew fainter. Her decaying body crumbled layer by layer. The flesh she’d painstakingly forged by devouring countless dragon hearts now felt brittle—merely a touch would reduce her to ash.

Noah floated toward the half-destroyed Silva, the elegant demonic sword in hand, her dainty deer-leather boots hovering midair. She moved like a solemn, beautiful moon goddess.

"What do you want? Come to mock me?" Silva tried to twist her lips into a bitter smile, but the gesture shattered her crumbling face. She rasped through a parched throat, "You won. I admit defeat. Say whatever you came to say."

Death’s embrace arrived as expected. Her body felt weightless, drained. Only in her final moments did she release her obsession with power, replaced by deep weariness and relief.

She closed her eyes, bracing for her enemy’s last mocking words.

Instead, a long sigh drifted from the girl before her.

"*Sigh*... My goodness, you’re beyond saving." Noah’s voice held only exasperation. The impossibly beautiful victor showed no trace of triumph. "If you were so determined to grow stronger, isn’t dying here terribly wasteful? Why throw it all away?"

Silva’s hollow eye sockets darkened with bitterness. "Some things... I couldn’t let go."

*If I lose, what fate awaits my soldiers and people?*

*They’ll be purged without mercy. After all, he’s the Demon King.*

"Mmm~ I don’t dislike that heroic spirit—loyal to your followers, charging forward without hesitation, embracing death for their sake." Noah nodded thoughtfully, gazing at Silva’s barely intact form. "So... wasting you on the Demon King’s side would be such a shame~."

"?"

Before the dying Silva could grasp her meaning, Noah pressed the tip of "True World" to her chest. Like rewinding time, ash reassembled into flesh.

"But simply reviving you would be boring," Noah mused, a playful smirk curling her lips. "Your body absorbed too many chaotic bloodlines—it’s reached its limit. I’ll refine you. Help you reach greater heights."

*Truth.* Silva’s demonic physique could barely suppress the chaos of devouring wyvern hearts. Consuming true dragon flesh—especially *hers*—would have shattered her instantly.

"Let’s forge you anew," Noah declared, "like a blacksmith shaping crude, impure iron into a flawless masterpiece~."

"Wait—?!" Silva gasped, then froze. Her voice had returned—clear, high-pitched, almost childlike.

Golden light swirled. Noah wove threads of pure draconic essence from the energy haze, blending in her own magic. Layer by layer, she reforged Silva’s body.

An intricate alchemical matrix—reminiscent of the Kabbalistic Tree—glowed across Silva’s form. As the light faded, a petite figure settled gently to the ground.

"Huh?"

Noah separated the impurities, shaping them into objects. One black seed caught her eye.

*This feels similar to that dark ray... but not quite the same.*

She frowned, unable to identify it.

"You... you...!" Silva stared, crimson-faced, at her new body. Her mature curves had vanished, replaced by the petite, unblemished frame of a golden-haired flat-chested loli. The madness and murkiness in her eyes had cleared, leaving pure golden dragon pupils. Noah’s alchemy had purged every toxin and corruption from decades of devouring flesh.

Silva was reborn—essence preserved, dross discarded.

She felt weaker, many old powers gone... yet what remained thrummed with greater strength.

With a complex gaze at her small hands and feet, she finally sighed, accepting the impossible.

"I lost, Your Majesty. From this day forth, the people and army of Dragonchase Territory pledge our lives to you."

Newly reborn and naked, Silva’s porcelain skin gleamed. A loyal retainer hurried forward, draping a coat over her shoulders. Seizing the moment, Silva knelt on one knee, bowing deeply before the throne. "I offer my allegiance."

"Hmm. Granted."

Ledyah gave a lazy nod from her throne, dismissing the hexagonal barrier of light. Her calmness suggested she’d expected nothing less.

*Had the Demon King foreseen all this?*

Silva shuddered, sweat beading on her brow as she realized the arrogance of challenging him.

"My troops followed me out of loyalty. Punish me alone for this treason," she pleaded, bowing lower. "Spare them your wrath."

"Unnecessary. I care little for such things." Ledyah waved a hand, eyes still closed.

*The Dark Pilgrimage grants any Demon Race the right to challenge the Court Trial. Silva broke no laws.*

"But," Ledyah’s voice turned icy, "you marched armies into the capital unbidden. That is treason. You will pay a fine of 300,000 gold coins. For five years, thirty percent of your territory’s tax revenue and twenty percent of its treasury reserves will be forfeit. You may not raise taxes to compensate."

"Your private forces outside the inner city will be absorbed into the Demon Army. And you—" Ledyah’s gaze pinned Silva in place, "—will remain confined to your estate in Irusil for seven days. No exceptions."

"Does this judgment satisfy you?"