“T-This is the Nightmare Queen’s power!?”

Witnessing daylight abruptly twist into night, the expeditionary force instantly panicked.

Everyone knew the Nightmare Queen’s weakness: her power waned in daylight. Yet she could also summon night in an instant—and beneath that darkness, she reigned supreme.

That was why all races on the Loren Continent feared her. Her very existence meant an existential threat to them all.

To vanquish her, this expedition had prepared thoroughly. They’d uncovered the “Sacred Flame,” a weapon capable of inflicting massive damage on demons.

That was the root of their earlier confidence.

But the power to turn day to night spoke volumes. Even with the Sacred Flame’s aid, facing the Nightmare Queen would be a brutal battle—and they’d steeled themselves for it.

What they never imagined? That even the Nightmare Queen’s maid wielded this same power!?

Did that mean *she* alone was already a grueling fight?

And after her… how could they possibly face the Queen?

If a mere maid held such strength… how many more terrifying retainers awaited them?

The more they thought, the colder their blood ran. Their earlier momentum had already crumbled.

“Fallen humans of darkness—welcome the baptism of the Sacred Flame!”

Retreat was no longer an option. To rally morale, Holyflame Knight Plamia surged ahead. She planted the battle standard, drew her cross-shaped greatsword “Ashbell” blazing with Sacred Flame, and charged Suran.

Before she closed the distance, the scythe swept her warhorse from under her.

“So fast!”

Plamia hadn’t even seen the swing. She lost balance instantly.

Swiftly regaining her footing, she gripped Ashbell with both hands and struck—once, twice, thrice. Steel clashed against scythe in soul-shaking roars.

And that was all.

Plamia, humanity’s greatest hero and master of the Sacred Flame, lasted only three blows. On the fourth, the scythe sent her flying. Ashbell spun from her grasp, clattered to the ground, and was swallowed by darkness—its flames snuffed out.

“Ugh—!”

She tumbled nearly a hundred meters, stopping just before the gates of the Crimson Garden, utterly disheveled.

Her helmet had flown off. Revealed was a young woman: delicate features, fair skin, radiant golden hair, eyes clear as sapphire. Without armor, no one would’ve guessed this beauty was a legendary hero.

“Lady Plamia!”

Soldiers rushed to lift her, terror etched on every face.

This had shattered all expectations.

A maid who summoned night? Unexpected, but manageable.

But their leader—*crushed* by her!?

“I… cannot fall here.”

Plamia forced herself upright. “Ashbell!”

The greatsword shot back into her hand, flames reigniting.

She charged again.

And fell again.

Again.

Until she could barely stand, leaning on Ashbell, armor shattered, pale skin exposed, wounds bleeding freely.

“You carry honor. I had no wish to be cruel,” Suran said calmly, gazing down at her. “Yet you rise again and again. What conviction drives you?”

“The previous human hero… Shuran. He challenged the Nightmare Queen a thousand times and never yielded. How could I surrender so easily?” Plamia lifted her head, voice firm. “He is my spiritual guide, my revered predecessor. As his inheritor… I will not fall.”

“…Shuran? A name so close to mine… Have I heard it before?”

As Suran strained to recall, a sharp jolt pierced her mind—searing pain followed.

“Ugh—!”

Clutching her head, fragmented memories flooded in:

Skyscrapers piercing the sky. Strange metal carriages racing streets. *Cars*, her mind supplied instinctively.

Then—a shift. *His* perspective: kneeling before the almighty Nightmare Queen… overpowered… forced to drink the Nightmare Queen’s blood…

Just as the memory deepened—Plamia seized the opening!

Sacred Flame blazing, she lunged with a final strike!

The distraction snapped Suran back. She deflected the blow, but not before Plamia’s blade grazed her arm.

“Desperate times demand desperate measures—I understand. But an ambush… is no knight’s honor.”

Ignoring the wound, Suran advanced slowly, scythe in hand.

She should’ve erased these intruders disturbing the young mistress.

Yet her raised scythe… hesitated.

*What’s wrong with me?*

*Why can’t I strike?*

Plamia’s unbroken will had stirred something in her—a flicker of mercy.

*I’ll spare her.*

“You… wish to live?”

Suran lowered the scythe, eyes sweeping the broken, silent soldiers. “If given one chance to survive… what would you choose?”

“Don’t lump us with *you*! We’ll never submit to demons!”

“I’ll do anything to live!”

“Hey!?”

The ranks fractured—some defiant, others desperate.

Suran ignored the discord. “South of the Crimson Garden lies a troll tribe. Filthy. Treacherous. Their chieftain swore loyalty to my Queen, received a sacred magic crystal… then betrayed her and spat vile insults. I’ve had no time to cleanse them. So I offer you this: take the Sacred Flame. Wipe them out. Succeed, and I spare you all. Flee midway? Pray you never see me after dark.”

Silence fell over the expedition.

“This is a transaction.”

Suran twirled her scythe. “Anyone refuse?”