“Why aren’t you answering me?”

Seeing Valante trembling so violently he could barely stand, Sylvia let out a cold mental snort and pressed further.

Yet even her calm tone struck Valante like a demonic whisper from the Abyss. He collapsed to the ground, knees buckling.

“Spare me, Archangel! The charge of stealing a Church relic wasn’t fabricated by the imperial legion! It was confirmed only after The Church’s inquiry pointed to Kroso! I was merely following orders—I know nothing of the details! Please, Archangel, investigate fairly!”

Valante wailed, tears streaming, his voice thick with genuine remorse. This fear was no act. Anyone who’d lived in the Holy City revered and dreaded The Church in equal measure.

Reverence belonged to the impeccably holy Archangel before him. Dread belonged to the Oversight Council—omnipresent in the Holy City—and the infamous Fata Interrogation Chamber, notorious for its brutal tortures.

Valante himself had once, over a minor family feud, sent an imperial official to that very chamber. A simple apology-worthy matter spiraled into a full-scale heretic purge. Acting on the man’s “confession,” The Church wiped out noble houses loyal to the throne, plunging the Holy City into terror—until the Archangel personally intervened to halt the bloodshed.

After that, young nobles like Valante truly grasped The Church’s terror. Now, mistaken for falsifying Church orders, he was paralyzed with fear. Sent to the interrogation chamber? Even he wouldn’t walk out alive.

“The Church’s inquiry? How am I unaware? Do you dare sow discord between me and the Elders to my face?”

“No, no, no! Never, Archangel! Chief Elder himself issued the decree in the Holy City! The Church has branded Kroso a fugitive for stealing a sacred artifact! And you… you were missing. You simply hadn’t received the notice! I swear—I’m not lying!”

Accused of a crime threatening his entire bloodline, Valante wished he had ten heads to kowtow before the girl.

“Chief Elder?”

Finally extracting useful intel, Sylvia fell into thought. If the decree came from the Chief Elder… even as Archangel of Supremacy, she couldn’t revoke it alone. It required an Elder Council vote. She held veto power—but not unilateral approval. With those old monsters already abandoning her, reversal was likely impossible. Unless she dismantled the entire Council.

She glanced at the Hero beside her. Kroso frowned deeply, equally troubled.

Fine. Set it aside. Storm Chernost City. Rescue General Gene. Clear the Hero’s treason charge first.

“Holy Light! Grant me and the brave warriors the power of hope!”

Ignoring the kneeling imperial knights, Sylvia clasped her hands. No more wasting time. She unleashed her level-70 ultimate: [Hymn of Hope].

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she shouted the cringey chuuni line. In an instant, blinding white light engulfed her. Even the azure sky descended with a ring of sacred radiance, scattering the spirit dragon cavalry above in panic.

“Archangel…”

The glow intensified—within seconds, onlookers couldn’t keep their eyes open. Yet Kroso, standing close, barely made out the breathtaking scene of Sylvia casting the Hymn.

Truly captivating. One glance, and he couldn’t look away.

The Holy Light shredded her commoner’s clothes to nothing. Post-cast, Sylvia stood utterly bare—stripped by her own innate skill.

Beyond her expectations. Thankfully, the light was so blinding even she saw no details. A sliver of relief.

Still, heat flooded her face. Especially with Kroso to her right, staring wide-eyed. Embarrassment and irritation flared.

Seconds felt like hours.

*You good-for-nothing Hero—staring that hard? Never seen a girl with a figure like mine?*

Fuming inwardly, she quickened the chant. She’d seen this scene before: completion meant an instant, clean magical-girl-style outfit change.

Hurry. Hurry!

*Hum!*

Sensing her urgency, the celestial light ring accelerated downward. A soft ripple of light—and massive translucent wings unfurled midair with a mighty beat.

The radiance around Sylvia exploded outward. In its place: a pristine white gown, utterly unlike her prior attire.

Sheer knee-high stockings hugged soft thighs, the elastic band pressing gently just below the skirt’s hem. Against them, a faintly glowing golden cross emblem radiated noble sanctity. The feather-adorned gown and cross-trimmed white gloves exuded the Archangel of Supremacy’s sacred grace.

But all eyes locked on the colossal pure-white light wings now spread behind Sylvia as she floated.

A single tremor sent countless luminous feathers drifting down—illuminating every shadow in the world.