The Tower of Affliction, along with the statues and the magic circles encircling it, dissolved and scattered into the air like dust carried by an unseen wind. An occurrence that did not escape Damian's vigilance.
"The ritual has been dispelled!" he clicked his tongue, emptying his bladder in a pond.
Meanwhile, the members of the cult lingered in idle ease, until their sorcerous senses suddenly sharpened, catching the faint resonance of approaching footsteps—too distant and subtle for novices like Dolores and Pritish to sense.
Their sudden change in demeanour drew confused glances between the two women.
As time passed, the sound of footsteps grew steadily louder, each step heavier than the last, pressing an invisible weight of dread upon everything within the vicinity.
"Hey… can you hear that?" Lestrude asked warily, sweat forming on his face.
"What is that sound?!" another voiced out as all members instinctively backed off from the cave's entrance.
Ezgovin trembled like a leaf, as though he had seen a ghost.
"Mr. Ezgovin!" Gizvhell snapped, forcing him back to focus.
"Y-yes… What is it?" he replied shakily.
"You have but one task," Gizvhell said sharply. "Keep your eyes on whatever is happening in that damn cave. Hurry up!"
"Alright, alright… there's no need to be aggressive," Ezgovin responded, hastily activating his spell. As before, he summoned an eye of mana deep within the cold chambers of Affliction.
But this time…it was empty.
"What… does this mean?" he thought, utterly stunned. "Where is the Tower…?"
Though he did not voice his bewilderment, his expression betrayed him, sinking his companions' hearts deeper into confusion and fear of the unknown.
He turned once more to his spell, attempting to confirm what his senses had already begun to reject, hoping to reassure both himself and those around him.
As he could clearly perceive the approaching form, his face drained of colour, growing paler than it had ever been since his birth.
"Run!" he whispered, his voice trembling as all attention snapped toward him.
"Something… something terrifying is approaching!"
The entire group shifted their gaze from Ezgovin to the stone sealing the cave's entrance as it began to grind slowly aside, revealing the darkness beyond.
They raised their guard in unison, tension coiling through the air as they awaited what lay within.
And then—the source of their fear emerged.
The fallen princess stood there.
Sigrid lay slung over her shoulder, while Eliane and Eliakim were cradled in her arms, all three unconscious. Victoria's gaze was empty, devoid of any light or reflection.
She gently lowered them to a safe spot beside the cave's entrance before stepping forward once more, standing directly before them.
"Who is that?" they all wondered in unison.
It was a legitimate question. Though they had seen her before—Gizvhell especially, who had once envied her—the figure standing before them was now something else entirely, altered beyond recognition in both body and spirit.
A cloud drifted aside in the darkened sky, and the full moon's radiance illuminated her form, unveiling the full extent of her awakened appearance.
Black hair cascaded down her back, threaded with strands of silver, while her irises burned with a deep grape hue. An ancient tattoo ran from beneath her left eye along her cheek, and her nails had darkened to a dying black.
Her form had changed—lithe and finely wrought, drawn like a bow yet coiled with latent strength. Once five feet seven, she now stood a full six feet tall.
She opened her hands slowly, studying herself in silence, observing a rebirth, an overwhelming tide of mana coursing endlessly through her being.
Then she exhaled softly, closing her eyes for a moment before reopening them with a slow, deliberate motion, her gaze now sharp and menacing, her aura surging with a palpable bloodlust.
The cult reacted instantly.
"She's dangerous—kill her!!" Gizvhell shouted.
Without hesitation, the command was obeyed. Channelling mana, they unleashed a barrage of elemental spells directly toward Victoria.
Yet she did not flinch.
As the spells rushed toward her, Victoria's awakened senses granted her an altered perception of reality, as though time itself had begun to slow, everything around her moving with a lethargy that seemed even heavier than that of a tortoise.
"Everything is so slow…" she murmured inwardly.
The spells struck, ravaging the cave's entrance and tearing through the surrounding terrain in a violent burst of destruction, while smoke and dust rose in thick curtains, obscuring all sight of the outcome as they waited in tense anticipation.
Yet, something else stole their attention.
Among them, one cult member stood for a brief instant—his head already gone, the severed neck gushing blood in a violent stream before his body collapsed into the mud-soaked soil scattered with dead leaves.
They had neither seen nor sensed it happen.
To their horror, the fallen princess now stood behind them, holding the severed head by its hair before casually tossing it aside like mere filth.
Dolores and Pritish, along with the rest of the cult, exchanged stunned glances, none daring to act first, each waiting for another to take command in the suffocating silence of fear.
Victoria, however, chose for them.
She took a step forward. They all stepped back.
"Here she comes! Do not hold back—kill her!!" Gizvhell roared.
At his command, they advanced, their war cries setting the rhythm of their charge.
In an instant, Victoria moved—faster than their senses could grasp or even begin to comprehend—appearing amid five of them at once. Instinct alone drove them to retaliate, blades and weapons descending upon her from every side.
But it was as futile as counting the endless sands of the desert.
Every weapon shattered the moment it touched her skin, her body entirely unmoved.
"What…?! It didn't work?! What is her body made of ?!" Disbelief flashed across their faces before panic took hold.
They were now wide open, and it was Victoria's turn to retaliate. She wasted no time.
She struck each foe in swift succession, her blows finding heart, lung, and gut with inhuman precision, tearing through flesh and leaving them to collapse in agony before death claimed them.
Despite the carnage before her, the fallen princess remained unmoved.
Gizvhell, Lestrude, and Nolin leapt back instinctively, retreating in caution, while Dolores and Pritish immediately hid themselves. Ezgovin, without hesitation, turned and fled.
Victoria advanced toward the survivors, the heat of her mana so intense it burned away the blood upon her skin before it could settle.
Then, without warning, Lestrude swallowed his fear, steeled his pride, and attacked.
"You fucking bitch! Who do you think you are?! Sharpener!!" he roared as mana burst from his blade, then drew tight along its edge, honing it to a deadly sharpness.
Sensing the danger of the attack, Nolin immediately shouted a warning.
"Heads down!!"
The others obeyed at once.
"Die!!" Lestrude declared.
Yet to Victoria, none of it mattered—not the brilliance of the blade, nor the density of mana, nor the trajectory of the strike, for all lay bare before her all-seeing perception.
At point-blank range, too swift for the eye to follow, she moved, her left hand intercepting the strike and seizing the hilt, stripping Lestrude of his weapon as though it had never belonged to him.
Using the stolen blade still imbued with Lestrude's own mana, she released a circular slash. The arc tore through his body, severing him cleanly as it passed, then surged outward to carve through the surrounding forest, splitting trees in its path before silence returned to the aftermath.
Blood and shattered remains were scattered across the ground, the air itself seeming to recoil from the violence.
Lestrude's body lay where it had fallen, eyes still wide, his expression frozen in confusion, as though death had claimed him before his mind could accept it.
Victoria, however, did not spare it a glance. She stepped onto his remains and kicked them aside.
"What just happened!? I didn't even see a thing!" Nolin thought in stunned disbelief.
"What… what kind of counter is this?!" Gizvhell echoed, equally shaken.
Meanwhile, Dolores and Pritish had already reached their limit. The moment the first mage was beheaded, they broke—clinging to each other, eyes shut, praying for survival.
Victoria casually tossed the claimed sword from her left hand to her right, then back again, testing its weight until it finally settled into her left grip as though it had always belonged there.
Long ago, against Helios' guidance, the fallen princess had secretly devoted herself to the sword, training in silence with obsessive dedication. She had admired him—wished to become like him—believing that by following his path as a warrior, she might reach a deeper understanding of his essence, his fears, his courage, his very existence.
She believed that by walking the same path, she might draw closer to him—learn to understand every word of his legend, and grasp the full measure of his greatness without ever diminishing it in her eyes.
At the same time, she had continued writing to him, sending letters with unwavering devotion. And as a right-handed individual, she had deliberately trained with her left, fearing that an injury to her dominant hand might prevent her from continuing to send him her words.
Gizvhell stepped forward, studying her carefully.
"Who are you? State your name, sorcerer."
"Why ask? The dead only need rest… not names," she replied calmly.
In response, Gizvhell summoned a spear with a trident-like edge and took a battle stance, locking eyes with her. Victoria mirrored him, sword in hand.
They both circled in silence, each measuring the other.
"We sent in eleven non-mages as usual to nourish the goddess, and she was not among them. So where does she come from?
If she escaped my sight—which is impossible—how did she survive the goddess's hunger? Or did she survive the previous ceremony and remain hidden within the cave, waiting for us to unseal the stone? No… that cannot be. Sir Ezgovin would have noticed. She even unsealed the entrance herself.
How could a sorcerer with such absurd mana go unnoticed under our noses? Besides… why do I feel as though I have seen her before?" he pondered deeply.
Then his eyes widened as realisation struck him—for eyes never lie.
The hollowness within her gaze, that unchanging void, resurfaced in his memory.
"You…!" Fury twisted his expression. "I knew it. I should have killed you back then. I knew there was something wrong with you." He pointed his spear directly at her
Victoria did not respond.
"I do not know what happened, or how you obtained this power… but one thing is certain. I will kill you here and now, and you will never approach Lord Damian. Never!!"
He lunged forward, anger overwhelming the caution he had held until now.
Steel and spear clashed in rapid succession as they engaged, each exchange growing more violent than the last.
"Lestrude paid the price for his arrogance! Do not underestimate her! She is a beast that must be put down—she is too dangerous!" Nolin shouted toward Gizvhell.
"Shut up! No one tells me how to fight my battles… except Lord Damian!" Gizvhell retorted, unleashing a surge of mana that drove his assault further
The clash escalated, each impact releasing faint arcs of lightning that cracked through the air as the surrounding terrain began to collapse under their force.
Within the chaos, Victoria's eyes tracked every movement without pause, her gaze following each swing as she read every pattern unfolding before her, waiting for a single fatal opening.
The exchange became a calculated rhythm of pressure—one Gizvhell had begun to recognise—yet even within that rhythm, something shifted.
A cut appeared across his cheek.
"She landed a hit?!" Nolin exclaimed, startled.
Gizvhell raised his fingers to his cheek, feeling the warmth of blood seep through his skin as he tested its texture, as though confirming it was real.
"When…?" he murmured. He had not seen it. Not even once.
Before anyone could fully process what had happened, Victoria moved again.
She surged forward at blinding speed, her form fracturing into afterimages, the impact of her movement the only thing the eye could follow.
Gizvhell tried to keep pace, but he was overwhelmed almost instantly. Each exchange left new cuts across his body until he was finally forced to drop to one knee.
"My spear technique has always been praised by Lord Damian as one of the finest…" he muttered through clenched teeth. "So how…? How did she overcome it? How did a frail wretch like her attain such power and skill in so short a time? She was nothing when she arrived here… how has she changed so much? What did she sacrifice?"
His expression darkened with frustration as blood dripped from his wounds.
"Nolin was right… I must not underestimate her, or I will pay the price," he thought, a cold unease settling in his chest. "She must not reach Lord Damian. I will pour everything into this and kill her here and now."
"Nolin! Stay out of range! I'm going all out!" he ordered.
"Alright, I'm counting on you!" she replied, following his instruction.
"Full release!" he roared, pushing himself back to his feet.
His mana erupted across the forest, engulfing both body and spear as he unleashed his spell.
"Fortified Patterns!"
With explosive agility and overwhelming force, Gizvhell unleashed a chain of rotational spear strikes, each widening outward before folding back into a tightening formation, shaping an enclosing orb.
His movements blurred beyond sight—neither hand nor spear could be seen, only the distortion left in their wake.
It was indeed a formidable display.
"This is Gizvhell's masterpiece—a spell that renders him untouchable both defensively and offensively. It has its flaws, but it should be enough to put her down," Nolin thought, momentarily reassured.
Victoria, however, remained indifferent, finding nothing remarkable in the technique before her.
"What are you standing there for?! Come at me!" Gizvhell provoked.
"All those who fell before her did so because they could not match her speed. I will show her what an impenetrable defence truly looks like. I will wait for her to exhaust herself trying to break through, then finish her once she falters," he thought, a distorted smile forming on his lips.
But that confidence was shattered the moment an ominous presence engulfed them, chilling their flesh and bones alike.
Victoria, having observed Gizvhell's release of mana, attempted to replicate it herself. Though she now bore the existence of a goddess within her, her grasp of magic remained incomplete.
Yet the result far exceeded expectation—her mana rendered his almost trivial by comparison.
Her presence carried an undeniable promise of death, an aura steeped in karmic malevolence, as though something vast and unknowable had briefly opened its eye upon the world.
"Th-this can't be… this mana…!" Nolin trembled.
"She's a monster…" Gizvhell admitted under his breath.
Victoria's mana converged into her blade, sharpening it to its absolute limit, as though she were drawing in the very air around her. The radiance spread without restraint, illuminating everything within its reach.
"Wait… That's Lestrude's sharpening spell…! Did she copy it?! How…?!" Gizvhell's eyes widened in shock.
Victoria lifted her mana-imbued blade, pointing it toward the dark sky as her gaze locked onto her prey.
In response, Gizvhell reinforced his own technique.
"I will gather all my mana into my core, block her attack, then counter directly. She will die on the spot. That is the only way," he thought.
Though Nolin knew nothing of his plan, the overwhelming display of power from both mages made it clear who was destined to fall in this moment. Realising this, she screamed.
"Gizvhell! Evade her attack!"
But it was already too late.
With her left hand gripping the blade, Victoria released a massive slash of cataclysmic mana.
"Perish," she sentenced, her gaze cold and unyielding.
He had no time to react—no chance to evade, no means to block. It was judgment itself.
The strike tore through everything in its path, even nature itself, breaking through Gizvhell's technique— severing his body and spear in two in a single motion. Blood erupted outward, splattering across the ground and staining Nolin's face.
Dolores and Pritish remained trembling together, having shut their eyes to escape the horror unfolding before them.
Victoria, meanwhile, continued forward, slowly advancing toward her next prey.
Understanding this, Nolin's survival instinct finally snapped into action. She fled into the forest, leaping from tree to tree in a desperate attempt to escape.
"I have to get out of here… or I will die! I don't want to die!" she thought, sweat pouring down her face.
But that desperation was immediately crushed.
Mid-leap, she sensed something approaching—and when she turned, she came face to face at point-blank range with Gizvhell's spear.
She froze. Her thoughts ceased entirely.
The spear pierced through her body, pinning her to a gallows tree as blood spilt outward—her life extinguished in an instant.
It had been Victoria's doing—an execution offered to the ravens.
Hearing nothing but silence, Dolores and Pritish slowly opened their eyes, hoping the chaos had ended. But what they saw instead was chaos incarnate—Victoria standing before them, staring them down.
They both held their breath, fearing the fallen princess's wrath would fall upon them next. Instead, she spoke calmly.
"Take them with you," she said, referring to Sigrid, Eliane, and Eliakim— still unconscious. "And get out of here."
Then she turned and walked away, disappearing into the woods—a gesture that left the acolytes speechless.
***
Somewhere within the rotting forest, Ezgovin's horse galloped in desperation, driven only by instinct to spare its master from imminent death, before it suddenly halted, sensing a presence ahead.
It was the Patriarch, Lord Damian Rannickvol.
"Lord Damian!" Ezgovin called out, voice trembling as he quickly dismounted.
"Sir Ezgovin… to what do I owe such urgency?" Damian asked calmly, his expression detached.
"You won't believe me! Something terrifying emerged from the cave and is heading straight toward us! The others are likely already dead. We must—"
His words were cut short.
A blade pierced through his heart from behind, ending him instantly.
Damian stepped back at once. The horse panicked beneath him and bolted, vanishing into the depths of the forest.
Ezgovin's body was violently hurled through the air, crashing into the surrounding trees before coming to rest in a grotesquely twisted heap among the undergrowth.
Once again, it was the fallen princess who had delivered the killing blow.
"You are next… Patriarch," she declared, her sword levelled toward the serpent's head, her gaze utterly cold and empty—as though she were nothing more than a living corpse.