Sylvia stepped out of the room, her cheeks flushed with health, expression serene, eyes bright with vitality—every trace of her earlier frailty utterly gone.
Dressed in simple village girl’s attire and deliberately suppressing her sacred archangelic aura, neither Valent nor the surrounding knights recognized her at first glance. They only saw a strikingly beautiful girl with an unusually approachable presence.
In other words: easy prey.
*How could a backwater village harbor a girl this radiant?*
Valent sized her up, his face twisting into blatant greed.
“Who are you?” he barked, raising his voice to deliver an intimidating first strike to this audacious country girl.
*“I’m your grandpa!”*
Sylvia seethed inwardly. How dare this lowly Imperial general leer at her with such malice, his tone dripping with condescension? If not for her current archangel facade, she’d have unleashed a verbal barrage worthy of a Zaun-style trash-talker right then and there.
“Archangel!”
Kroso hadn’t processed it at first—*Shouldn’t the Archangel still be inside, struggling to heal?*—but snapped to attention and dropped to one knee.
This was mandatory protocol for all Imperial soldiers upon encountering the Archangel, especially in public. Kroso observed it meticulously.
“Archangel?”
Kroso’s reverent cry clashed with Valent’s arrogant demand. Valent, poised to enjoy the girl’s terrified shrieks and trembling legs, froze mid-sneer.
“No need for formalities, Hero. Please rise.”
Ignoring the petrified Valent and the restless knights, Sylvia gave an elegant forward bow. With a gentle smile, she gestured for Kroso—positioned to her front-right—to stand.
Simultaneously, she released her inner magic. In an instant, a powerful sacred aura washed over everyone. Even Valent felt every malicious thought in his mind extinguished.
Seeing Sylvia’s calm, composed expression—just as when they first met—Kroso’s face lit with genuine joy. A heavy weight lifted from his heart. *This Archangel was no longer putting on a brave front.*
Beside him, Lainer collapsed to the floor with a thud, prostrating himself completely. His whole body trembled from overwhelming emotion.
*This… is the Archangel?*
*I actually saw the Archangel with my own eyes?!*
Bathed in that warm, sacred aura—gentle as a mother’s embrace—disbelief flooded Lainer’s face.
“Thank you for your brave wish to protect me with your life. But you are too young. I cannot accept or repay such selfless devotion. Please do not act so recklessly again. May the Holy Light forever bless you. Rise—no need for formalities.”
Sylvia spoke softly, then cast a high-tier blessing upon the frail boy: unless deliberately sabotaged by another powerful entity, he would live pain-free to the world’s natural human limit of one hundred years.
She never stinted on those who truly believed in and protected her—no matter how ordinary. Not out of angelic mercy, but her own nature.
Valent and his knights exchanged uneasy glances, rendered speechless. Sylvia deliberately ignored them after helping Lainer rise.
Truth was, she’d finished healing long before the cavalry arrived. She’d been savoring the unexpectedly pleasant afterglow when movement outside caught her attention. She hid behind the door and overheard everything.
She knew little of the Hero’s early storyline. Back then, controlling the Abyss demons, she’d launched the Elder God’s revival plan immediately after capturing the Archangel of Supremacy. Who had time for Hero details? That’s why she’d felt helpless earlier—her power then was… frankly pitiful. Beyond being a fearless meat shield, she’d had no idea what else to do.
But now? Her magic attribute stabilized at 70. Skills unlocked: High-tier Sacred Healing, Divine Ward (level 60), Hymn of Hope (level 70).
All supportive—but with the Hero as frontline combatant, she needn’t fear most strong opponents. Why overthink? If traitors blocked them from healing General Gene, she’d simply support the Hero and bulldoze through. She doubted any Imperial soldier would dare disrespect her while The Church hadn’t stripped her title.
Hearing Valent’s arrogant taunts from behind the door? She couldn’t stay hidden.
She wasn’t the meek, saintly Archangel of Supremacy from the original story. She had a temper—and a fierce one.
“You are Imperial knights. I may overlook your disrespect toward me. But as the Church’s Archangel of Supremacy, I cannot ignore your vile attempt to exploit The Church’s authority to slander the Hero. Produce convincing evidence the Hero stole a sacred artifact—or do not blame me for invoking The Church’s name to deliver the Final Divine Judgment of the Supreme Cross.”
Sensing the tension thicken, Sylvia turned calmly toward the flustered knights.
The attendants immediately bowed deep in respect.
Valent did not kneel. He was truly lost. A trusted source had ordered them to capture the gravely injured Archangel alive. To them, Kroso was just a title-holding Hero—no threat. Seizing the Archangel meant leverage for harsh demands against The Church. A grand achievement. Valent hadn’t volunteered out of brotherly vengeance; his bond with his eldest brother was anything but friendly.
But now…
Meeting Sylvia’s gaze—calm yet laced with absolute ruthlessness—Valent realized with horror a cold, wet sensation had spread beneath him.
*What do I do? What do I do?*
If he couldn’t produce evidence now… the Archangel would kill him on the spot.
