As Morningstar drew closer, she saw the tower’s true grandeur. Roughly a hundred meters in diameter, its peak vanished into the sky from her vantage point—stretching endlessly upward as if piercing the heavens.

Each floor’s outer wall bore majestic sculptures of terrifying mythical beasts. Their expressions were vivid and lifelike, as if ready to leap free at any moment, wrapping the spire in an aura of dread that kept all at bay.

“Hey! You’re not actually crashing into it, are you?”

Morningstar saw the dragon showed no sign of slowing. Compared to its colossal size, the tower looked as slender as a chopstick. She braced for impact—certain the dragon would snap it clean in half.

But the collision never came. The instant the dragon touched the tower, the world before Morningstar shifted.

The hellish sky vanished. In its place: a sunlit day. Clouds drifted lazily. Lush greenery, birdsong, and floral sweetness filled the air. Forests, grasslands, lakes, rivers—all bloomed in vibrant harmony.

Landing gently on a grassy patch, the dragon lowered its head respectfully. “Master, we have arrived.”

“So vast… but why did it look so different from outside?”

“The Witch’s Spire holds spatial magic left by you, Master. Outside, it appears infinitely tall, each floor barely a hundred square meters. Within lies this boundless realm—all by your power.”

“How many floors total?”

“One hundred. Nine Guardians stand watch—each guarding ten floors. To outsiders, only the lowest floor holds an entrance. To reach you, Master, one must defeat all nine.”

“Sounds just like a video game…” Morningstar muttered, then added, “Where are they now?”

“They…” The dragon’s voice carried a trace of sorrow. “All perished in the last great battle. Only I remain.”

“Wha—? That’s… so tragic?”

“Fear not, Master. Though fallen, their legacies endure. Find worthy successors, and your Guardians shall rise again to aid your conquest. That is why I urged you to keep the Valkyrie—she is ideal to inherit a Guardian’s power and become your new Dark Valkyrie.”

Even now, the Little Dragoness schemed to corrupt the Divine Maiden. She knew this relic of the post-divine era wielded power surpassing nearly all in the current age. And light turned to darkness? Strength multiplied tenfold—a truth whispered across realms.

Morningstar cared little for such schemes. Yet… without gathering Guardians, returning home was impossible. Still, she couldn’t fully trust those words.

"*Ahem*… Besides this Demonblade, are there other Guardian relics?”

Seizing the topic shift, the Little Dragoness bowed. “After the battle, this unworthy servant recovered only four relics. The rest remain scattered.”

She laid them out: the Demonblade, a dark-purple crystal wreathed in black mist, a translucent vial holding jelly-like blue goo, and a blood-red stone.

“This is my sister’s magic core—called Dragon Crystal beyond these walls. At her end, she sealed her power and soul within. Fused with a worthy host, it births a dragon. The bloodstone? Left by the Vampire Princess. Bond with it, and one becomes a Blood Demon—far deadlier than any vampire.”

“And this blue jelly thing? Looks… kinda tasty.”

“A Slime.”

“Huh? The weakest RPG monster was one of the Dark Sorceress’s Guardians?”

“She was your Guardian, Master—and your favorite.”

“Why?”

“She was your personal bath attendant. She cleaned your entire body, inside and out, with meticulous care during every bath.”

"*Gasp*… The Dark Sorceress had… *very* peculiar tastes.”

Just imagining it made Morningstar shudder. She’d thought the Sorceress’s quirks were extreme—turns out, worse awaited. If this *was* her past life… why did she feel so utterly normal now?

“Master! That woman’s awake!”

“Awake?”

Amid blooming flowers, the Divine Maiden slowly opened her eyes. Dazed, she sat up, gazing at the vibrant greenery. For a heartbeat, she believed she’d returned home.

The scenery mirrored the Divine Clan—birdsong, floral scents, gentle landscapes, even the flora felt familiar.

“Could I… be back in the Divine Realm?”

She drew a deep breath. The flower-scented air matched her memories perfectly. Tears spilled silently. A century of homesickness surged—she nearly sobbed aloud.

Then—black light erupted from the ground beside her. As it faded, two figures emerged. The Holy Maiden’s pupils snapped tight.

“ABOMINATION!”

Seeing Morningstar, she lunged without hesitation, fists hammering Morningstar’s chest. Only a faint tremor answered—no harm done.

“Why… must you do this?” Morningstar sighed, weary. She held no grudge, yet bore this rage. A quiet ache settled in her chest.

*Hehehe*… “Holy Maiden Lia,” the Little Dragoness drawled, voice dripping with mockery, “holy magic and demonic energy within you now cancel perfectly. You wield neither. You are utterly, completely… ordinary. Still don’t understand?”

With a flick of her wrist, a gust sent the Holy Maiden tumbling.

Struggling upright, dirt-streaked and trembling, she glared. “Grr… Just kill me!”

“Death? Too kind.” The Little Dragoness’s smile turned icy. “Fall to my Master, and death is the *lightest* mercy. Try suicide—you’ll only gift your soul to eternal torment: lava’s burn, ice’s bite, blades through the heart, crushed, sliced, minced… then remade. *Hehe… hahaha*… Soon, even begging for oblivion will feel like a dream.”

Her grim words didn’t frighten the Holy Maiden—but Morningstar’s spine went cold, every hair standing on end.

“Whoa…! The Dark Sorceress was *this* cruel?! There’s… no way I could ever do that!”