*Huff… huff…*

Heavy breaths rasped through the night, trembling convulsively with every step. Kroso finally reached a tightly shut gate.

He had no idea where he was. All he knew was this: he *had* to rescue the Archangel, captured by demons of the Abyss. No matter how many demons blocked his path, he would uphold his conviction.

After cutting his way here, the longsword in his hand was already notched. But blessed by his Innate Domain, any weapon he could still swing would cleave the air before him effortlessly. His strength remained untouched.

With a mighty heave, he smashed the pitch-black gate open and charged inside without hesitation.

"Hero… it’s been so long~"

In a cold, dim cavern, a girl’s voice—hoarse and weary—echoed around him.

At that sound, Kroso, exhausted to the brink of collapse, jolted alert and looked up.

But the sight drained all color from his face. Even the hand gripping his sword began to tremble slightly.

"Archangel…?"

Suspended midair, the girl was a shattered vision. Her once-pristine snow-white hair was gone, replaced by tangled strands radiating ashen death. Her signature light-blue eyes had vanished, now dull pink. Worst of all were the blood-red demonic patterns crawling across her entire body—a horrifying mark of utter corruption.

"Hero, you *promised* to protect me with your life! So why… why must I endure such inhuman torment here, while you lounge safely in the Holy City?"

"And why come now—to witness my disgrace? Do you *want* to save me? Then laugh at me first! Join in happily… and *play* with me! Hahahaha…!"

Seeing Kroso frozen, the girl’s expression twisted into venomous malice. Each sharp taunt struck like a dagger. Kroso staggered back, face pale, breath catching in his throat.

"No! No! How could this happen!"

"No!"

*Aaaaah…!*

With a roar of grief and self-reproach, Kroso jolted awake.

*Cough… cough…*

A metallic sweetness flooded his throat. Then—*urp*—he vomited a torrent of congealed blood onto the ground.

So it was just a nightmare?

Though his vision swam, Kroso recalled his state. He tried to move—but thick demonic steel tendrils coiled tightly around his body, utterly immobilizing him.

His injuries were worse. Only his reinforced heart and neck had spared him from death in that last impact.

He’d underestimated the Demon Lord. He’d planned to endure, then strike back with his trump card.

What now? How was the Archangel?

Trapped within the tendrils, he couldn’t see the Demon Lord. Only the magical charm engraved on Sylvia’s clothes could signal her state.

*She should be safe… right?*

The charm would alert him the moment she was in danger. Yet the one clutched in his palm stayed silent—a sign she was still relatively safe.

But not for long. Demons of the Abyss harbored a twisted, innate obsession with surface-world females. Capture meant unspeakable horror.

He had to act. He *would not* let that nightmare become reality.

*Snap…*

Kroso flicked his fingers lightly, activating his pre-planned trump card—the very charm in his palm.

A blood-red sphere materialized in his hand, cool and smooth, just small enough to grip.

Only he knew the cataclysmic power sealed within this tiny object.

He took a deep breath, reviewing his plan one last time.

Even if it turned hundreds of kilometers into eternal wasteland—he would not hold back. Not if it meant crippling or killing the Demon Lord.

Because if he or the Archangel fell here… humanity would be lost.

*Buzz…!*

A sharp alarm blared—the charm on Sylvia!

Kroso’s heart leaped. Without hesitation, he snapped again.

*Snap!*

This snap was crisp. Instantly, a slight weight settled against him—Sylvia, still wrapped in her blanket.

But his face remained tense. He snapped one final time.

*Snap!*

*Whoosh…!*

Scenery blurred. Wind roared in his ears. In a blink, Kroso—cradling Sylvia—reappeared ten thousand meters above his prison, stars nearly within reach.

*BOOM!*

A deafening explosion erupted below, unleashing a shockwave violent enough to tear space itself. Even at this height, Kroso was hurled backward.

An indescribable cataclysm unfolded. The initial roar faded into a silent ripple. Where it passed, everything froze under a deathly silver frost. Birds and beasts dropped lifeless, not even a final cry escaping.

At the epicenter, a pure white cross of light swelled from palm-sized to a colossal pillar piercing the heavens. Merely glancing at it induced a splitting headache.

Yet across the continent, every human who saw the white cross knelt in involuntary reverence. In the Holy City, worship surged like a tidal wave. Even cold, shadowy alleys filled with kneeling thugs and beggars.

"What?! How did the *Holy Cross Judgment* appear there?!"

On a balcony high in the Arcane Spire of Leying District, Holy City, an old man in black robes rubbed his wrinkled eyes in shock and fury. He could scarcely believe the radiant cross staining the distant sky.

No wonder he raged. This forbidden spell—the Holy Cross Judgment—was the Church’s century-long secret, meant to crush the Imperial Legion and unify the continent…

*Could there be a traitor among the elders?*

Teeth gritted, he gripped the white railing until his knuckles turned white. Calm was gone.