Freya was a descendant of the Divine Clan from the post-divine era. By the time she was born, over two millennia had passed since the great war between humans, gods, and demons. The Dark Sorceress had long been sealed away.

Thus, Freya’s entire understanding of evil came solely from books—descriptions of the Dark Sorceress’s atrocities and her despicable nature.

As for humans, Freya had always believed them to be resilient and kind, never yielding against foes far stronger than themselves. Her impression of humanity remained gently favorable.

So long as they weren’t cultists, she assumed ordinary humans would never commit evil. But today… she witnessed otherwise.

True, these bystanders weren’t committing arson or murder like the Dark Sorceress in legends. They were only hurling sarcastic taunts.

Yet such verbal cruelty was never even mentioned in evil-themed texts. This was Freya’s first encounter. The girl, who once only called the Dark Sorceress “evil” at worst, had never learned to insult anyone.

Harsh words flooded Freya’s ears—a form of violence she’d never imagined. It began with “showing off,” “meddling,” then escalated to personal slurs: “slutty-looking,” and worse.

Rage. Unfathomable rage. Her clear eyes clouded with murky black-purple haze. An invisible black aura, visible only to Morningstar, seeped from her body.

In that instant, Freya forgot the Holy Maiden’s teaching: never raise a hand against ordinary humans.

“You people!”

Though seething with fury, Freya had no retort. But her actions spoke.

“This woman is really—” A passerby’s words cut off mid-sentence.

“Huh?” Warm liquid splattered his face. He turned—his companion’s head soared through the air.

Only a twitching body remained, neck spurting crimson.

“Aaaaah!!!!!!” Pale-faced, he collapsed, legs buckling beneath him.

Screams erupted, then vanished. Every life… extinguished by Freya.

“Ruthless,” Morningstar murmured. She hadn’t expected Freya to snap so completely. But how could a sacred Holy Maiden endure such abuse? Besides, tainted by darkness all last night, a little volatility was only natural.

One question lingered: Were these humans twisted by her dark magic… or was this their true nature?

“Help!”

“Run! There’s a monster!”

The crowd never imagined the gentle-looking Freya could be so merciless—killing without hesitation, lives snuffed out in seconds. Some froze, trembling; others fled in panic.

For Morningstar, it felt oddly satisfying. Their words didn’t warrant death… yet wiping them out brought quiet relief.

“Ugh—!”

A retching sound. Freya knelt, vomiting after silencing the gossipers.

Not her first kill, yet her reaction was visceral. Disgust. Pure disgust.

“W-what have I been protecting all this time?”

Freya calmed slightly. Her words held double meaning: the humans she vowed to protect were like this… and she, a Divine Clan member, had just slain them.

Eroded by darkness too long, she’d lost control. Now doubt crept in—of her actions, of herself.

“I’m such…”

“There, there~” A soft, cool palm brushed Freya’s cheek. Morningstar had appeared unnoticed, voice tender: “All my fault~ Just like before, blame everything on the Dark Sorceress, okay? Don’t carry this burden.”

“I…”

Freya knew the darkness tainted her emotions. Yet she could no longer shift all blame onto the Dark Sorceress.

In the end… her will was simply too weak.

*Hehehe… Perfect. Surrender to my tenderness.*

Morningstar, seeing through Freya’s turmoil with the Dark Sorceress’s eyes, smiled inwardly. Watching her shift from doubt to surrender was far more delicious than forced control.

“It’s her! Catch her!”

While Freya lingered in that fragile comfort, escaped witnesses had summoned the city guards. They charged in formation.

Two choices: eliminate them… or leave?

“Eh, I can’t be bothered.”

Morningstar smiled faintly. In a blink, they vanished.

The guards froze, then instantly bowed toward the empty space. “My lords, please go in peace. These people… truly deserved it.”

Witnessing the bloodshed and impossible disappearance, they knew better than to provoke such power.

Morningstar heard them—but ignored them completely.

At the city cathedral, none seemed aware of the distant chaos.

“Please treat these two.”

Freya had brought both Leticia and the injured child. The priest glanced at their wounds. “Severe injuries. Five hundred silver coins.”

In this world, cathedrals healed with Holy Light—a gift from the Divine Clan meant to mend body and soul, banish darkness. Priests, as divine conduits, were sworn to serve selflessly. That was the covenant.

But now…

“I have no coin,” Morningstar said lightly, placing a gold ingot in his palm. “Will this suffice?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” The priest’s face brightened. He hurriedly signaled nuns to carry Leticia and the child inside.