Lyselle only learned of Shall’s departure from the Forest Sea on the fourth day.

An elemental creature she hired had spotted the Champion at the Forest Sea’s edge, looking visibly rushed. According to the little guy, the Champion was heading toward the nearest human settlement.

He’s probably in a hurry to gather materials to resurrect the Priestess, Lyselle reasoned matter-of-factly. She decided to let Shall go—after all, she’d never planned to keep him anyway. In fact, every time she saw that guy, her head throbbed.

Shall leaving was undeniably good news for her.

For the past three years, that annoying face had haunted her every waking and sleeping moment, granting no peace. Now that its owner had sensibly left, she could finally savor a leisurely life.

The Sorceress resolved to sleep like a log first, making up for three years of lost rest.

But after crashing for two full days and nights, she jolted awake from her slumber—

Wait. She’d never told Shall what materials were needed to resurrect the Priestess!

Why had Shall left the Forest Sea for human cities?

Having lived with Shall for three years, Lyselle understood him well—she’d even boast no one knew the current Champion better. She quickly realized he might be visiting the Priestess’s grave.

Her drowsiness vanished instantly.

She recalled the graveyard she’d wrecked, the empty coffin. Then she pictured Shall’s expression seeing that scene.

The Sorceress broke out in a cold sweat.

“Stop, stop,” she thought guiltily. “That guy Shall… he wouldn’t… destroy the world just because his wife’s grave was dug up, would he?”

But based on her knowledge of Shall…

No past Champion would turn demon over this. Yet this was Shall—the ultimate romantic she’d personally molded.

Even if he wouldn’t end the world, he’d likely become a demon hunting the grave-digger. He’d follow clues, discover his “moonlight” was an imposter.

What then?

Lyselle didn’t dare imagine.

She’d probably be beaten to her knees by the furious Champion, then dragged back to warm his bed.

Too scary!

Lyselle couldn’t laze in bed like a lazy dog anymore. She rolled out without shoes, grabbed her Magic Wand, and cast the Blink Spell to the coordinates from memory.

A gentle breeze swept by.

The Sorceress’s form dissolved into the wind. The next instant, the same breeze appeared in the cemetery where the Priestess was buried.

Lyselle materialized from the wind.

She pressed down her fluttering skirt, silently praying the Champion would slow down—or better yet, trip into a ditch. Frantically, she looked up at the Priestess’s grave.

Thank goodness—it looked exactly as she’d left it.

Honestly, she owed Shall a kowtow. If he hadn’t buried her in this desolate ghost town, someone would’ve reported her coffin-breaking the moment she escaped.

But the Sorceress also felt a pang of sentiment.

Constrained by her current height, she stood on tiptoe. Gazing into the distance, she saw why Shall chose this spot.

The sea was visible here.

Long ago, after a battle, the Brave Squad had casually discussed death wishes. The mage joked she’d rather die stuffed with carrots than starve. The warrior declared men should fall on the battlefield. Shall had turned to her, awkwardly asking where she’d want to be buried if she died.

Back then, something snapped in her head. She’d blurted out, “Somewhere I can see the sea.”

Now, standing before her own grave on tiptoe, she saw the sea.

“He really keeps his promises, that guy,” Lyselle muttered softly.

But now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. She needed to hide the grave-robbing from Shall.

Lyselle was prepared.

Just craft a soulless shell and restore the scene. Even if Shall dug up the grave, he’d find nothing amiss.

Easier said than done.

Lyselle raised her Magic Wand, ready to mold a blank body in the Priestess’s likeness.

Suddenly, her [intuition] flared—from the Master Servant Pact with Shall. It warned her the Champion was nearby, rushing toward her.

Shall practiced Magic Nullification and likely wouldn’t sense her. But this was terrible news.

Creating a body from scratch was time-consuming.

Lyselle calmly calculated if she could finish the Priestess’s body and restore the graveyard before he arrived.

The result?

She might as well rehearse her defeat animation lines now.

Screwed!

But a person might be destroyed, never defeated.

When Plan A failed, Lyselle swiftly devised Plan B.

Crafting a body was hard. But changing clothes and appearance? Simple.

A disguise spell. A face-altering spell.

In moments, the DawnDusk Witch Lyselle became the Brave Squad’s Priestess Lyselle.

She lay back in the coffin. Waving her wand, she commanded the lid to seal itself. The pried nails hammered back into place, one by one.

In darkness, she issued more orders: the coffin sank into the grave; the dug soil covered it; every disturbed element reverted to its pre-breakout state.

Done, she closed her eyes, heart pounding as she waited for Shall.

Whether lucky or unlucky, his footsteps reached her ears almost immediately through her sound-transmitting spell.

Then came a rustling sound—like placing a large bouquet before the tombstone.

Flowers? Lyselle wondered.

Her favorite golden roses?

The thought sparked a strange certainty: it had to be golden roses. No reason—just because Shall, of all things…

He’d never disappointed her in this.

But Lyselle quickly shifted focus.

Shall spoke:

“I’m here to see you again, Lyselle.”

His voice was relaxed, like a ship docking, yet carried a dreamy drift, like half-awake murmurs.

The Champion whispered to the buried Lyselle:

“I bring good news this time—I found a way to resurrect you.”

“Deep in the Forest Sea lives a reclusive Sorceress. She can bring you back, and she’s agreed. Once I gather the materials, she’ll help me.”

His tone was casual, as if winning the Sorceress’s aid was effortless.

Unconsciously, Lyselle held her breath.

Then the Champion continued:

“After I resurrect you… I’ll take you to the sea capital you’ve always wanted. Feed you your favorite foods. Show you every sight you dreamed of. Wherever you wish to go, I’ll be with you.”

His voice grew softer, finer—like fearing to wake a sleeping princess. It faded into a fragmented, indistinct murmur.

From that haze, Lyselle barely caught three words:

“I’m sorry.”

The Champion apologized to his dead love, voice thick with tears, dazed.

“…I love you.”

He blurted it out.

Lyselle knew those were words he’d never said before her “death.”

After faking her death, she hadn’t been fully unconscious in the coffin. But Shall guarded the grave constantly, denying her any chance to “resurrect.”

For three months, she’d heard him whisper “I love you” daily.

She felt no warmth—only terror. She’d aimed to be his idealized “moonlight,” but the effect was terrifyingly perfect.

She’d even feared he’d turn demon over her death.

Later proof showed he hadn’t lost all reason. Yet… Lyselle worried about his sanity.

This kid had yandere potential.

No choice—he was naturally silly. She must never tease him again. Prioritize the Priestess fabrication plan; her life depended on cutting ties fast.

After the split, Shall and the fake Priestess—with her three years of memories—could marry, have kids, even destroy the world. Just don’t involve her.

While Lyselle spiraled in thought, Shall seemed to finish his monologue.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, she heard the sound of digging—graves being unearthed.

What now?

Had Shall finally snapped? Or was he a full-blown pervert, wanting to… do something while she was “fresh”?

Trapped in the coffin, Lyselle could only play dead, eyes shut tight, awaiting the outcome.

Shall quickly unearthed the grave.

Lyselle felt herself and the coffin lift—Shall was carrying them out.

He pried the nails loose, one by one. Lifted the lid. Light flooded in.

Lyselle, under a fake-death spell, stayed perfectly still, terrified he’d see through her act.

Then Shall spoke:

“I’m taking you to the Forest Sea.”

Lyselle: “Shit!”

[To be continued]