"Drop your sword, or I’ll kill her."

The cultist holding the hostage saw Freya, the Little Dragoness, and Morningstar frozen in place. He smirked—his bluff had worked.

Little did he know: aside from Freya, no one even glanced his way.

"Shameless!"

"Drop your sword, or I’ll—"

His threat died mid-sentence. His sword arm flew into the air.

"Huh?" Stunned for a heartbeat, searing pain and the grotesque sight shattered his composure. "AAAAHHH! My hand! MY HAND!"

"Threats from the Dark Lord? Fine. But *you*? A nobody cultist daring to threaten *me*? Who do you think you are!"

Freya’s icy face suddenly filled his vision. He jolted, knees buckling, and collapsed onto the snow.

Her rapier was two fingers wide, thin as paper—razor-sharp, resilient, silent as shadow.

But this time, she didn’t slash. She thrust.

The blade slipped effortlessly into his flesh. So thin, the wound seemed invisible. Only when blood pressure forced the slit open did crimson bloom.

"How dare you threaten me! How dare you! Stab you! Stab you to death!"

Each plunge brought no sharp agony—only the blade’s unnatural chill seeping deeper, freezing his soul with terror. "Let me go! Please! I’ll do anything… *anything*! Spare me!"

He lunged for the blade—five fingers severed in an instant.

Countless narrow cuts marred his body. Not fatal. But the psychological torment? Unbearable.

"I’ll give you… money… please…" No reply from Freya. Desperate, he turned to prayer.

"O gods! Great Dark Sorceress… save your most loyal follower!"

He prayed to the impostor—not Morningstar. His words vanished into silence.

"Gods… ah… dark deities…"

The wounds finally claimed him. Freya stopped. Shot the corpse a fierce glare. Sheathed her sword. Walked silently back to Morningstar.

"Your grudge feels heavy," Morningstar murmured, turning to Freya. "While stabbing him… were you thinking of *me*?"

"Eh? N-no! Not at all!"

"Lying children get punished. Come to my room tonight…"

"In this frozen wilderness? Do we even *have* a room?"

"We will." Morningstar smiled slightly. She wasn’t angry—in fact, she rather liked it.

"Thank you for saving us. I am Leticia, captain of the Third Squad, Frost Empire Capital Guard."

Leticia bowed deeply. Though the Little Dragoness and Freya had been brutal, it was against the Cult of Darkness. She chalked it up to righteous fury.

"It was nothing."

"May I ask your names?"

Even ignoring the powerful mage herself, her two escorts had stunned everyone—no techniques, pure strength alone crushing every cultist.

"I’m Freya!" Kelan patted her chest with a grin. Beside her, the real Freya shot her a death glare—then instantly softened upon seeing Morningstar’s smile.

"They are my house servants. They have no names."

As she spoke, Morningstar scanned the girl—not with her eyes, but her third eye.

The crimson Demon Eye, nestled between her snow-white cleavage, slowly opened. Level. Attributes. Revealed.

But that wasn’t the point.

*Darkness.*

Under the Demon Eye, the Little Dragoness glowed pitch black—true darkness. Freya? Half shadow, half light.

This girl? Darker than Freya. Untouched by corruption. *Innately* shadowed.

And the injured knights nearby? Also steeped in darkness.

Morningstar’s first human scan. Unexpected. *If the Dark Sorceress is the source of all darkness… why are they still so shadowed after millennia sealed away?*

"Interesting." She hid her curiosity well.

"I see," Leticia replied, unsuspecting. A noble-born, well-mannered mage wouldn’t accept aid freely.

"You saved my life. Please accept this." She offered a gleaming gemstone. Morningstar barely glanced at it.

"Keep your thanks. You’re with the Empire’s guard? I’m new here. Guide us to the capital?"

"Of course!" Leticia nodded eagerly. She’d hoped to ask—but felt awkward after being rescued. Her squad was shattered. Another Cult of Darkness encounter would be fatal. Powerful allies? A blessing.

*Hehe, I’m such a genius,* Morningstar mused. *Befriend them, slip into the capital… then retrieve my… Oops, no—the Dark Sorceress’s necklace.*

Too cautious. Worrying over phantoms. Perhaps only after truly knowing this world would her suppressed 'desires' finally awaken.

Night fell. No shelter in the icy expanse—just a tent.

(They weren’t cold. But appearances mattered.)

The spacious, yurt-like tent—over ten square meters—was Freya’s work alone. After laying the bedding, she turned to leave.

"Wait." Morningstar’s voice stopped her. "You had *so* much fun today, didn’t you~? Now it’s my turn."