Luna, busy with chores in the villa, heard Qin Yu and Silver Crimson Snow up to something. Curious, she quietly crept closer to investigate.

“What? Just massages…”

Disappointed, Luna returned to work. Her mind drifted between her past glory as a goddess and her current misery—a familiar imbalance stirring within.

Ultimately, it was the Elder Gods’ doing. They stole the world she created, turning it into Bloodkin territory, while her wounds and cursed decay worsened daily.

“You despicable wretches… One day, I’ll slaughter every last one of you!”

Their existence threatened the world’s safety. She understood why the other gods opened a new battlefield—to shatter the stalemate.

But the Elder Gods weren’t fools. They’d prepared thoroughly. For all she knew, some of these otherworlders were already their lackeys…

—

Logging out of Fate Paradise, Tang Jihede and the others emerged from the villa’s game pods.

Though the pods allowed long sessions, real life demanded attention—unlike Qin Yu, who shunned reality.

“It feels like an eternity passed…”

The five girls stretched luxuriously before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the distant sea.

“Are we really inviting *that* guy here?”

The speaker was Old Vinegar—ponytail, round glasses, radiating scholarly charm.

Suddenly, golden-haired Bingtang Xueli pounced from behind, arms wrapping around her, hands roaming playfully. Old Vinegar flushed crimson.

“Xueli, stop it!” she cried, flustered.

“What’s wrong? You don’t mind girls, Chen~”

“I mind *you*!”

Breaking free, Chen sighed in relief.

“Brother Yu clearly carries deep scars. Doesn’t that intrigue you?” Bingtang Xueli—wavy gold hair, mature aura—smiled knowingly.

“He just looks like another game-obsessed teen, same as Tang Tang,” interjected Candied Hawthorn: tall, golden ponytail, emerald eyes. Huaxia-born but raised in Taria, she’d studied abroad with Tang.

“Mm! Mochi thinks so too,” chirped Mochi Dumpling, twin buns framing her youthful face. Barely sixteen, she was the group’s unwitting heiress—money meant little when your parents funded everything.

Tang Jihede stepped out, smoothed her chestnut hair, tugged on an oversized cap. Even inside the pod, her Sony noise-canceling headphones stayed looped around her neck.

“You lack experience. I’ve seen the world~ Brother Yu’s pain *draws* me,” she declared.

“You say that about every handsome guy,” Tang deadpanned.

“No! He’s *different*. Trust me—he’s a man with a story~”

The others exchanged tired glances. Letting Xueli daydream alone, they headed off to wash up.

—

Saintess Monet reported former Saintess Daisyth’s case to the Pope, who assigned her the investigation.

Without pause, Monet led three hundred Holy Light troops east across the Central Continent, hunting the greenskin Goblin Emperor and Daisyth’s trail.

In the eastern wilds, greenskins coalesced into unified tribes—no longer scattered clans, but a single force answering to their king.

Campfires dotted the mountain pass. Crude sentry posts and barricades stood guard, mimicking human discipline.

Inside the cavern, chaos echoed: goblin snarls, orc bellows, women’s muffled sobs.

Even temporarily stationed, they’d built a makeshift stronghold to savor spoils—a lesson from king and mother.

Upon a rough-hewn throne, the burly Goblin Emperor held a voluptuous woman with long yellow hair, clad in a black nun’s habit.

A decade had etched mature grace onto the former saintess’s features.

His hand traced her curves beneath the fabric; a faint blush warmed her cheeks.

Fortune or curse? After her son rose to rule, she became his exclusive possession—untouchable by others. Yet… she was still his *mother*.

“Your Majesty… this battle… losses… lowest in history… ah…”

Daisyth gasped as his fingers slipped beneath her habit. Nothing lay underneath.

“Mother,” the Goblin Emperor rumbled, eyes locked on her. “Do we yet have the strength to challenge the Theocracy?”

“N-no… not nearly… Not just the Luminous Theocracy… but the Sanctum of Radiance behind them… Far beyond us…”

To confront them now was delusion. A single Tier-7 expert could erase the Greenwood Tribes. They were fragile.

“Then we seize the entire east—and forge our empire!”

His roar ignited cheers from orcs and goblins throughout the cavern.

Daisyth smiled softly at her son. She believed it. This scorned, god-forsaken race would one day trample the “chosen,” slay the gods themselves, and claim a new era.

Nearby, captured women lay broken on the stone floor. Daisyth raised her staff. Healing light washed over them.

Strength returned—but not salvation. Only the prelude to deeper horror.

She gave a slight nod. A twisted smile curled her lips.

She was truly, irrevocably broken.