If an ordinary man had suddenly proposed to her, Sylvia would have rejected him without a second thought—leaving not a shred of hope.

But the one kneeling before her now was the Hero…

It wasn’t that a Hero’s proposal was irresistible. Rather, Sylvia had no idea what terrifying consequences might follow an outright refusal.

After all, in the original game’s lore, the Hero felt like a hair-trigger bomb—detonate him, and the whole world would burn with him.

Having transmigrated here, she wanted to live. Yet now the Hero awaited a decision that could kill her instantly.

What should she do?

Agreeing was utterly impossible. Her own will and the original plot’s spoilers both demanded a firm “no.”

But seeing Kroso’s solemn, hopeful expression, the refusal stuck in her throat.

You damn galgame—really targeting the heroine again, huh?

Her breath grew ragged, her mind foggy. A hot surge rushed to her head.

*This must be what “rage and anxiety overwhelming the heart” feels like.*

For a fleeting moment, Sylvia genuinely wished she’d faint—anything to escape this impossible choice.

And the next second… she did.

“Archangel!”

Kroso, anxiously awaiting her reply, heard only a choked gag. He looked up—pale face, blood trickling from her lips—and froze in horror.

In one swift motion, he caught the Archangel’s slumping form.

*Was it too much after all…?*

Cradling the unconscious Sylvia with utmost care, Kroso drowned in guilt and self-reproach.

————

*Crack!*

A whip snapped violently, blood spraying mid-air. Suspended by thick chains, the white-clad girl bit back a cry.

Holy healing cells sealed the wound instantly—but her already tattered dress now bore a fresh, long tear.

“Truly worthy of a fallen Archangel! This regeneration speed outclasses every high-tier creature alive!”

The white-haired elder in black ecclesiastical robes first marveled, then greedily licked blood from the whip, eyes wild.

“Since the Archangel’s outfit’s ruined anyway… might as well strip it off~”

Another robed elder ogled her snow-pale skin, throat working as he swallowed.

“Do as you wish. But leave the socks on—I’ve always liked it that way.”

A cold voice drifted from the shadows.

The two elders froze briefly, then laughed heartily, closing in on the spread-eagle Archangel.

Sensing their greedy, vile intent, the girl slowly opened her eyes—disgust etched deep.

“Get away…!”

“Eek!”

With a startled cry, Sylvia jolted awake from the nightmare.

*Huff… huff…*

Fresh air filled her lungs—so unlike the dream. She was in a bright, ordinary room. Her pulse steadied.

*Just… a dream?*

Yet it felt terrifyingly real—almost as if she’d fast-forwarded to the original story’s interrogation scene by The Church’s monstrous elders.

Thank goodness it was only a dream…

After a few deep breaths, she recalled: she’d fainted beside the Hero. How did she end up here?

Where was this?

Where was the Hero?

Though wary of his potential dark turn, she lacked the power to protect herself—and instinctively still sought his help.

Scanning the room yielded no clues, no people. A quiet dread crept in.

Feeling physically stable, she tried to rise.

But…

Her clothes? Changed?

She stared in shock at the unfamiliar light-blue dress—slightly ill-fitting, utterly plain. Like a generic female NPC straight out of a game.

*Creak…*

The door opened softly.

Sylvia’s head snapped up—and relief flooded her. It was Kroso, the very person she’d been searching for.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, the memory of his solemn kneeling proposal flashed back. Words died on her lips.

Kroso wore simple civilian clothes too, face grim, holding a large parchment. Something was wrong.

“Archangel?! You’re awake!”

Seeing her trying to rise, Kroso froze—then beamed with joy.

But spotting her evasive gaze and lingering weakness, he halted mid-step.

During her unconscious days, he’d drowned in remorse. This time, he wouldn’t rush. He trusted the Archangel’s compassion for humanity—once she knew the crisis, she’d choose life.

“Hero… what’s this about?”

Relieved he hadn’t mentioned the proposal, Sylvia exhaled softly, playing dumb. Yet his unprecedented gravity stirred unease.

“Archangel, I planned to take you to Celost City to recover. But I can’t return—I’m now the Empire’s most wanted fugitive.”

He extended the parchment toward her.

*What?*

This absurd twist never happened in the original story. Shock gave way to bitter laughter.

The Hero was the Empire’s guardian—how could he be hunted? Unless… the Imperial Royal Family in the Holy City had already been erased by The Church!

But as Sylvia took the parchment and read, her eyes widened. Calm shattered.