The underground chamber of the church remained shrouded in gloom. Even the priest’s Sacred Flame failed to dispel the bone-chilling cold seeping up from the depths below.

Priest Muir and Anna stood guard outside the door, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze.

As followers of diametrically opposed faiths, they should have been hurling spells or curses at each other’s heads. Yet time had softened old hatreds. These former mortal enemies, once bound by bloodshed, now merely found each other mildly irritating.

Anna felt neither strong fondness nor deep dislike for Priest Muir. Her reluctance to approach him stemmed purely from clashing beliefs—any conversation would inevitably spark faith-based arguments. When minds don’t meet, even half a sentence is too much. So she chose silence.

Muir’s gaze slowly returned to the heretic before him. He softened his expression slightly. “The guild’s new president, Noah… what kind of person is he?” He felt the question was perfectly ordinary.

“He’s quite easygoing,” Anna replied without hesitation. “At least, so far. Seems like he’ll hold up for a while.”

“A while…?” Muir paused, a wry smile forming. “How long exactly is ‘a while’?”

“Hard to say.” Anna shook her head. “Could be a day. Could be a year. Who knows?” She’d spent little time with Noah and cared little for history. Still, his current performance was impressive—he hadn’t fled on day one, surpassing ninety percent of past presidents. But time was merciless. It would prove everything. Muir had once believed others would guide the Azure Round Table rightly. Reality often disagreed. If even an outsider like Muir understood this, how could Anna not?

A flicker of pity surfaced in Muir’s eyes.

“Hey, hey—don’t look at me like that!” Anna hugged herself, rubbing her arms with visible disgust. “You’re giving me serious goosebumps. And don’t you dare hit me with that ‘the Divine loves all’ nonsense.”

Muir sighed and averted his gaze. His faint smile faded as he glanced toward the sealed black iron door. Beyond it, Noah was surely confirming Pascal’s identity.

“I simply hope Pascal finds a place to belong,” Muir said, voice warm with paternal tenderness. “She’s a kind-hearted girl. She deserves happiness.”

Leaning against the wall, Anna yawned. “What’s this called again? A father’s hope?”

Muir’s eyes crinkled slightly. “To me, Pascal is as dear as my own daughter. I raised her—I want to see her smile every day. And as a priest of the Holy Order, I pray she receives the Divine’s guidance, walks life without confusion, and returns peacefully to the embrace of the Sacred Light.”

Anna listened in silence. Though a follower of the Cult of the Death Goddess, she was no fanatic. She wouldn’t endorse others’ faiths, nor scorn their sincerity.

“Of course,” Muir added gently, “though we worship different deities, I truly hope you live a peaceful life.”

“Ew~~~” Anna shuddered, shooting him a glare. “I told you to stop! Do all you Holy Order folks love spouting such saccharine lines?”

Muir’s smile remained serene. “The God of Sacred Light embodies compassion and purity. Wherever, whenever—He loves all mortals eternally.”

*There it was again.* Just as she suspected: every Holy Order priest was a zealous missionary at heart. Let your guard down for a second, and they’d whisper praises of their benevolent deity into your ear. Anna rolled her eyes. She was already crafting a sharp retort when—a strange noise echoed from behind the black iron door.

Both snapped toward it.

“What was that?” Anna gasped, pressing down her witch’s hat. “An accident?”

“Not sure. Might be another episode with Pascal’s condition.” Muir’s face tightened. He seized the doorknob and gestured sharply. “Fall back. The Sacred Light inside is lethal to followers of the Death Goddess—like poison.”

Annoyed but compliant, Anna stepped away. Even an Undying One would need time to regenerate after being reduced to ashes. She had zero interest in a literal “death by daylight.”

But before sweat-drenched Muir could turn the handle—

*Creak.*

The black iron door swung open slowly from within.

A golden-haired, blue-eyed nun and a burly middle-aged man stepped out side by side.

“Anna.” Pascal’s eyes lit up with surprise. Then she blinked at Muir. “Your Grace… what are you doing?”

Sacred Flames flickered around Muir. The startled father figure stood frozen, hand still clutching the knob.

Muir blinked back to awareness, wiping his brow. “I… heard a noise from inside…”

Pascal hesitated, glancing at Noah. He gave no reaction.

“It was me,” she said with an innocent smile. “I tripped coming down from the cross. Luckily, all my Sacred Light was already absorbed—thanks to your prayer verses.”

“A devout believer’s duty,” Muir sighed in relief. He turned to Noah with concern. “Respected President Noah… you weren’t affected?”

Noah met his gaze calmly. “No. Why ask?”

“A past president was blinded for two days by residual Sacred Light,” Muir explained. “Even a trace can cause trouble.”

*You have no idea,* Noah thought. Aloud, he said evenly, “I saw a flash or two entering, but Miss Pascal reacted quickly. No issues after.”

“Thank the Light.” Muir exhaled deeply. “Since you’re unharmed and Pascal’s monthly ritual is complete… I entrust her care to you.” He turned, three orbs of Sacred Flame lighting the path ahead.

Noah and Pascal exchanged a glance. His right hand, tucked in his pocket, gently stroked a crimson gem.

...

The three left the church for the guild headquarters. Along the way, Pascal and Anna huddled together, chattering about everything and nothing—like long-lost best friends, jumping between topics with effortless joy.

Noah watched, mildly surprised. Pascal was, at heart, a nun of the Holy Order—no different from Muir. Yet Anna’s warmth toward her contrasted sharply with her attitude toward the priest. He felt no need to dig into their history. Maybe someday, over tea, as idle gossip. For now, weightier matters called.

Back at the guild, Miss Monica greeted them with a curtsy. “Miss Pascal’s room is spotless and ready for occupancy.”

Noah headed straight to the president’s office. “Summon Shirley too.”

Monica blinked. “A full meeting?”

“Yes. Everyone.” Noah’s tone carried unwavering authority.

As Monica departed, Anna popped beside him, curious. “What’s up? Why so tense?”

Noah glanced at her. “I need to verify a hypothesis.”

“Hypothesis?”

“Yes.” He nodded, then looked toward the golden-haired nun. “One that could change the guild’s fate.”