Chapter 389: Hellfire (1)

On the other side, upon a fleshly plain veined with bluish-black fascia.

Freya withdrew her gaze from somewhere, smiling as always as she looked at the group: "All right, that was enough of a break. Let’s keep moving."

She rose and continued forward.

Behind her, Annie—her little flower bobbing on top of her head—sneaked over to Princess Margarita again.

"Hey, don’t you feel like there’s something off about Freya?"

"Stop your chatter."

Margarita shot her a glance, barely resisting the urge to yank that flower off.

"She feels really weak. It hasn’t even been two hours and we’ve already stopped to rest three times. Even a magician isn’t this weak, right?"

Arms crossed, Annie scrunched her little face.

"The drag-it-out plan I racked my brains to devise has had zero room to shine, because the one dragging the most time among us... is Freya herself!"

"That’s true."

Margarita looked at the slender back ahead.

This most famous Saintess candidate... no, former Saintess candidate... was displaying an abnormal frailty: every short stretch she had to stop to rest, her stamina worse than an ordinary person’s.

She didn’t seem nearly as pressed as imagined. Rather than preparing to do something world-shaking, she looked more like she was on an ordinary sightseeing trip.

Though there was absolutely no scenery to see here.

It was downright nauseating.

"Come to think of it, we’ve never seen Freya personally take action," Margarita said, rubbing her chin. "Even when facing the Prisoner earlier—she chose to sacrifice a precious item rather than fight herself."

"You mean..."

Annie’s eyes lit up, and she rubbed her fists together.

"Freya’s actually a weak chicken for some reason, and we’ve got a chance?"

"...Even if she were a weak chicken, until we break the control, you have zero chance."

Margarita mercilessly popped the proud loli’s balloon, though her eyes couldn’t help lingering on the little bobbing flower above Annie’s head.

The source of the control was the flower—what would happen if she just plucked it out?

Could she break free right away?

No, Freya wouldn’t be that stupid.

And yet... many of her actions really were a bit irrational.

For example—

"Move."

A cold voice sounded. Margarita turned and saw a face pale as paper.

Apparently, Freya wasn’t the only strange one.

Margarita sighed softly and let her gaze fall to the abdomen of the former God’s Attendant Knight before her.

The wound Freya had stabbed into him earlier still hadn’t closed—hadn’t even been treated. Fresh blood continued to flow as if it would never run dry.

Brian himself seemed extremely weakened because of it. Though trained in both magic and martial arts, he moved even slower than Freya, often trailing at the rear of the group.

Of course, that could also be deliberate—easier to keep an eye on them.

"Move."

Brian spoke again, voice icy to the extreme.

Margarita said nothing and silently stepped aside.

Perhaps because he’d lost too much blood, Brian suddenly stumbled as he passed her and nearly fell.

Margarita instinctively reached out to steady him, but the moment she touched his arm, he flung her hand away with force.

"Don’t touch me, you stinking woman!"

"..."

A vein jumped on Margarita’s forehead.

Stinking? She, a princess of a great nation—even if she chopped down a hundred demonic beasts she’d still be fragrant; how could she possibly stink?

Brian, however, didn’t pursue it. Limping, he caught up with Freya. Freya looked back and said something to him; now and then a crisp laugh could be heard.

"Pfft..."

The foolish loli at Margarita’s side burst into unreserved snickering.

Margarita shot her a frosty glare. After a moment’s thought, she lifted the hand that had tried to steady Brian and brought it to her nose, sniffing lightly.

In an instant her willow brows knit tight; she stared blankly at her own hand.

"This is..."

As if afraid of misjudging, Margarita fought down her bodily revulsion and lifted her hand again, taking a deep—deep—breath.

"You’ve got to be kidding..."

After confirming what that smell actually was, Margarita looked at that ink-black back ahead, her expression becoming indescribably complicated.

...

...

"All right, everyone—here we are."

After a not-particularly long trek, Freya halted. Like a professional tour guide, she introduced the scene before them with lively enthusiasm:

"Ta-da, this is our destination... an altar!"

From the pinkish flesh-built ground rose a sudden bulging of pitch-black circular stone. Esoteric sigils were carved across its surface. Whatever material it was, it seemed to carry a foreign magic that could draw on one’s soul.

"An altar?"

Margarita forcibly tore her gaze away from it, interrupting that strange tugging at her soul, and spoke with an ugly expression:

"You’re not planning to sacrifice us to an Evil God, are you?"

Annie and Paul also went pale, fixing Freya with death stares.

"Don’t look at me so scary. How could I do something so terrible? I’m at least a Saintess candidate, right?"

Freya clapped and laughed lightly.

"Okay—no time like the present. You two, step on up."

She stepped onto the altar first.

Under the iron control, Annie had no choice but to inch forward even though she was wildly unwilling.

Margarita, with Paul’s longsword pressed to her neck, could only shoot him a I’ll teach you later look and head for the altar under duress.

"Q-quick—got any way to run? Use it now."

Forcing her body closer to Margarita’s, Annie gritted her teeth and whispered.

"If you don’t use it now, there won’t be any chance!"

"If I had a way, I’d have used it already."

Margarita’s face was blank. "Give me another half hour and I might clear the spores in my body. But the control on you two—I still have no way to deal with it."

"Half an hour and a roast turkey’s gone cold! I watched you think forever just now—don’t tell me you really don’t have a single plan?"

"Sorry. Thinking is one thing. Getting results is another."

"Useless!"

Annie flared. "People say big chests mean no brains—yours is so small, can’t you be a little smarter?"

"Heh. Right back at you."

"..."

"..."

After dealing real damage to each other, the two still had no choice but to stand upon the altar. Across from them, Freya looked at them with smiling eyes.

"All right—now, could you cut your wrists? I need a little of your blood."

"Blood?"

Annie’s little face went chalk white. "Can’t we not?"

"No."

"I faint at the sight of blood!"

"Fainting doesn’t help."

"Then can you draw more of her blood?"

Ignoring Margarita’s icy stare, Annie shamelessly sold out her companion: "She’s way heavier than me—she must have more blood."

"Relax, Miss Annie, it won’t be much—at least not enough to endanger your life. So..."

Margarita held Annie’s gaze and said meaningfully, "Let’s stop with the play-pitiful to drag for time stuff. It’s pointless."

"Tch."

Seeing the ploy fail, Annie’s expression turned snotty again.

But her body wasn’t as tough as her face or her mouth; she had already pulled out a sharp dagger and slit her wrist.

Blood with a faint golden sheen flowed out and ran into the altar.

Margarita followed suit helplessly.

After both had cut their wrists, Freya likewise drew a blade across her own.

The blood of the three flowed over the altar in winding rivulets.

"This is..."

Watching the path their blood took, and matching it to the lines on the altar, Margarita’s pupils shrank violently.

"Coordinate locking? This is a Coordinate Altar!"

"What’s a Coordinate Altar?" Annie asked quickly.

"An altar cultists often use. Its sole function is... to set a coordinate for an Evil God, in a world where Its true body cannot reach..."

Margarita stared at Freya in horror. "Your goal—no, the Love God’s goal—is to bring an Evil God down here?"

"...Truly worthy of you, Platinum Princess Margarita. Your learning is broad."

Freya lowered her lashes, watching as the trickling threads of blood pooled at the center of the altar into a small scarlet lake, and spoke softly:

"Yes. It’s a Coordinate Altar. Its purpose... is indeed to set the coordinate for a certain existence."

"Then why our blood?"

Margarita was puzzled. "We’ve got nothing to do with an Evil God."

For coordinate setting, the offering had to be related to the Evil God: either Its lingering power, or an object It had polluted. Only with such a lure could the Evil God be summoned.

But what could their blood summon? A magical girl?

Freya didn’t answer directly. Instead, she suddenly bent down and stroked the altar.

"This altar’s earliest use wasn’t positioning—it was... prayer."

"What?"

"The people of this country once stood upon this altar and prayed day and night—prayed to the Goddess they believed in. Prayed for salvation, prayed for forgiveness. But there was never any answer. Do you know why?"

"Because..."

Without waiting for Margarita to answer, Freya went on by herself:

"This nation was exiled—exiled by the First Saintess herself."

"Exiled? That’s the origin of the Lost Land?"

Margarita froze. "But why? Why would the First Saintess exile this place? Weren’t the people here all believers of the Goddess?"

"The opposite."

"The opposite?"

"Yes. Similar—yet opposite."

Freya raised her head to the faint, clear moon and sighed. "It’s the blackest of black humor."

"Similar... yet opposite..."

A tangle of thoughts surged through Margarita’s mind. Gazing out over the nauseating land, she felt like she had caught hold of a thread.

But she forced herself not to pursue it. Even if she knew the answer, it would do nothing for their current predicament.

"The First Saintess... so that’s why you’re using our blood?"

"Yes. Only the blood of a Saintess can pierce the ‘Wall’ and send the coordinate outward."

"But we’re not Saintesses yet."

"Close enough."

Freya spoke gently. "Raised as Saintess candidates from childhood, after multiple baptisms of Holy Light, the blood of a Saintess has long flowed within us. We’re only missing the final rite."

"So if the quality isn’t enough, you make up for it in quantity?" Annie cut in, eyes wide.

"Exactly."

"Miss Annie is very smart," Freya praised.

"Hmph." Annie let out a prim snort to assert her existence.

Margarita, meanwhile, lowered her head to look at the cut on her wrist.

She had said not to drag for time, yet Freya didn’t seem to care about their little motions at all.

Thus the cuts were actually small—at least the blood wasn’t pouring out too fast. In short time they wouldn’t bleed too much.

Margarita drew a deep breath, then snapped her head up and looked earnestly at the girl who had pushed things to this point.

"Freya, stop. It’s not too late yet."

"Oh?"

Perhaps not expecting Margarita to say such a thing, Freya asked in puzzlement:

"Why?"

"Because I know... you’re still a good person."

"..."

A brief silence fell. Everyone stared at Margarita with what are you even saying looks.

Even Freya tilted her head, a maiden’s baffled sweetness flitting across her face.

"What are you saying? I did something that excessive."

"Exactly!"

Annie nodded vigorously. "This woman’s deeds are disgusting—she made so many people lose their heads. How can you say she—"

"Yes, a lot of people lost their heads because of her backstabs and the Death-Deed Writ. And then what?" Margarita asked suddenly.

"And then—and then of course the Teleportation Scrolls triggered, and those people were teleported out, and then..."

Annie trailed off—she’d noticed something herself.

"And then... the Church healed them," Margarita finished for her. "Freya, didn’t you say as much to Muen Campbell earlier? With the Church’s capabilities, even a severed neck can be fixed if it’s quick enough.

"So those people looked miserable—but in reality, just like the others... they were merely eliminated."

At that, Margarita couldn’t help a cold smile. "A dignified follower of an Evil God schemed so painstakingly, yet not a single person ended up dead. Miss Freya, your destructive power doesn’t even beat my eighty-year-old grandmother; at least she still squeezes a demonic beast or two to death in the woods from time to time."

"..."

Freya fell silent.

"With that said, let’s move on to the other matter."

Margarita continued:

"We just mentioned the Love God’s objective. Now—let’s talk about yours, Freya."

Freya’s expression finally shifted.

"Your objective is..."

Margarita didn’t look at Freya, but turned to the one beside her—Brian.

"To save, or rather... resurrect, your knight. Am I right, Miss Freya?"

"Resurrect?"

Annie—who felt totally lost—shook so hard her flower’s petals almost flew off. "What resurrection? Isn’t that guy standing right in front of us alive and well?"

"No. Brian is indeed standing before us, but that doesn’t mean he’s still alive."

The shocking words crashed like thunder on every ear.

Paul reacted first, recalling oddities from before. "You mean—"

"Yes. Just what you’re thinking."

From beginning to end, the most abnormal one wasn’t Freya—it was her God’s Attendant Knight, Brian.

For example: the Shadow Ghoul, famed for ferocity, only sniping with magic from behind.

For example: a complexion so pale he didn’t seem alive, and how he clung to Freya’s shadow, unable to bear strong light.

For example: though he looked weak, he had been bleeding steadily for hours—and no matter how robust the warrior, that isn’t normal.

And those spores drifting from his blood... what’s the best bed for spores to thrive in?

Answer—a corpse.

"...When did you notice?"

"Not long ago. I caught the scent of corpse rot on him."

"But I clearly used so much floral fragrance to cover—"

"Fragrance can only cover—never cancel. And as it happens, perfume appraisal has been a compulsory lesson for me since childhood, Your Highness."

"I see..."

Freya rubbed her temples. Her brows drew together; she sighed, melancholy.

"But even knowing all that—what can you do? This secret won’t change the outcome."

"I don’t understand why you’d do this. To save him, you turned to an Evil God? You could have depended on the Ch—"

"Useless."

"Eh?"

"The Church can’t save Brian."

Freya spoke gently. "I know the Church’s limits better than you, Margarita. They can cure the vast majority of illnesses in this world, they can replace organs for those on death’s door, they can even rescue someone whose head has fallen, if it’s within a short time.

"But—even the Church...

"They cannot salvage a soul on the verge of shattering."

"So you pinned your hope on an Evil God?"

"Yes. That was my thought," Freya nodded.

"I still can’t understand!"

Margarita’s voice sharpened. "To abandon the Saintess throne within your grasp, abandon everything, even stain yourself with the sin of betraying humanity... all just to—to...

"Is it worth it?"

"Of course. It’s worth it."

Freya met her eyes and answered.

"..."

In that moment, Margarita understood—persuasion was pointless.

The woman’s eyes told her so.

"And you?"

Margarita turned to Brian. "Freya abandoned everything for you. Will you truly shoulder this sin?"

"I..."

A hoarse growl squeezed from Brian’s throat. He trembled all over; his lips writhed as if he wanted to speak.

But in the end, only meaningless sounds emerged. He said nothing.

Only a tangled expression writhed across his face.

Pain, confusion, remorse... so tangled Margarita couldn’t parse it—at least not now.

"It’s okay, Brian. It has nothing to do with you. This is my choice alone, so you don’t need to suffer."

Freya gently stroked Brian’s face. "It’s okay. It’ll be over soon."

She rose and walked forward.

To the center of the altar—before the little pool of blood.

She lowered her head.

In the blood, her reflection stared back.

Hands folded at her lower abdomen, back straight—dignified, elegant, holy.

Then, the reflection changed.

The faint curve of her mouth stretched into an exaggerated arc—unnaturally bewitching.

And those gentle eyes turned pitch black.

At that moment, an ethereal hymn rang out—from the sky, from the earth, from the blood. An immense, solemn voice, not of any human throat, yet intelligible to all, uttered a strange tongue.

【Freya, is it done?】

"Yes. Only the last step remains, Lord Love God."

All three others froze at once, faces bleaching white.

The Evil God—the Corrupt Love God!

It had actually appeared before them.

Fortunately, it seemed to be a feeble remnant at best.

【You have done well, Freya.】

The warped reflection grinned grotesquely. That cold laughter made the skin crawl.

【Then begin—the final step.】

"Yes."

Freya answered with reverence, then bent down, reaching her hand slowly toward the blood.

All breathing vanished. Everyone knew—if that fair, small hand touched the blood, something terrible would happen.

Even the reflection in the pool looked eager.

But...

Less than a centimeter from the blood, her hand abruptly stopped.

Freya lowered her lashes, her gaze audacious as she peered at the deity.

"Lord Love God, per our agreement—before I complete the last step, shouldn’t you... fulfill your promise?"

【You would instruct Me?】 The reflection’s gaze turned glacial.

"I would never dare. I simply think—even humans speak of keeping one’s word. As the supreme deity, surely Lord Love God will do likewise."

【Naturally.】

The reflection suddenly smiled.

【Of course I will keep My promise.】

A thread of scarlet light popped from the pool and sank into Brian’s body.

Brian convulsed. A visible flush spread across his face.

Joyful, Freya clasped his hand and caressed his cheek. She could feel the warmth of the living returning, little by little, to that once-cold body.

But—

"Lady Freya..."

Brian stared at her, his lips shaking violently, as if resisting something. His eyes were wracked with pain.

"Brian?"

He could live again—so why did his eyes look even more pained?

【Ah, right, Freya.】

The reflection in the pool spoke suddenly.

【Since you’ve been so diligent, I’ll tell you a secret.】

"A... secret?"

Freya stiffly turned back.

【Yes. A secret.】

The reflection leaned close to the surface, as if whispering by Freya’s ear.

【I did temporarily mend his soul. But in truth... his soul has long since belonged entirely to Me.】

"W-what?"

Freya’s eyes widened bit by bit, her pupils shrinking. She lowered her gaze to the reflection.

"What... did you say?"

【That man made a trade with Me a long time ago. I granted his wish—so his soul is Mine now.】

【Otherwise—did you really think stuffing your magic and essence into that body would make that nearly rotting shell move?】

【What kept him going until now—was Me.】

Word by word, each like a knife carved into the heart.

Freya turned her head again—never had she turned so slowly. It was ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ as if the grinding of each joint sounded clear in her ear.

"Brian—what did you wish for?"

"I..."

Brian’s grief was palpable. "I wished to help you, Lady Freya... become Saintess."

Freya’s mouth opened. She spoke blankly: "So that’s why... you had that expression then?"

Brian nodded. "Forgive me, Lady Freya. I wanted to tell you then... but I... I couldn’t."

Of course he couldn’t—that is the Evil God’s perverse delight.

"I see..."

Freya’s body trembled. The straight line of her back slowly bent, as if she were being crushed.

Leaning against Brian’s chest, she spoke softly:

"But my wish... was to save you."

Tears streamed down Brian’s face.

...

【That’s it... That’s it!】

In the blood, the reflection twisted and writhed in frenzy, like dancing a strange, ecstatic dance.

【How... exquisite!】

Love.

Parting.

Hatred.

Pain.

Regret.

Despair.

Heart-rending.

Gut-wrenching.

Longing denied.

Gained then lost.

Like a crystal flower blooming in radiance, then shattering at its most beautiful instant.

This is—twisted love, corrupted love!

"Lord Love God, you seem very happy."

At some point, that slender, delicate figure had returned to the pool’s edge, looking down upon the reflection.

【Hm?】

The twisted image smoothed at once. That holy yet bewitching face stared at an identical face above.

【Why?】

For the first time, the deity’s remnant voiced a question it couldn’t comprehend as it gazed upon that face.

【Why are you still smiling?】

Before the blood, Freya sat cross-legged at ease. The elegance from earlier was gone; even her back seemed a touch hunched.

But upon her face—at her lips—there remained that holy, gentle smile, as if it had never changed from beginning to end.

Yet clearly—just now she had undergone the cruellest pain in this world.

"Of course I should smile."

Freya spoke softly.

"This world already has so much pain. Why should I add even one more piece to it?"

【You...】

As if sensing something, the reflection’s face turned abruptly feral.

【You still want to resist? Impossible! At this point I can pollute your soul with ease!】

The blood roiled. Countless threads of red climbed over Freya’s body, burrowing into her flesh.

But soon, all those threads recoiled, collapsing back into a powerless, raging image.

【Impossible. Your soul—where is your soul?】

"Right here."

Freya smiled faintly and drew out a dark-gold cone.

"Ancient Relic—Sealing Cone. I hid my soul inside. This body is just an empty shell."

Hence such weakness.

"After all, you’re the famed Love God. If I’m to trade with you, how could I not prepare a little insurance?"

【Impossible! To strip your soul and lodge it within a dead object—the pain—how could a human endure it? How!】

The reflection howled.

To set one’s soul within a dead thing—that was torment that even the Prisoner, tempered by ages untold, could not bear without begging for salvation.

Much less the active pain of ripping out one’s own soul.

"It does hurt."

Freya pressed a hand to her chest.

"But compared to the pain when I lost him back then, it’s nothing."

Holding the Sealing Cone, her expression went a little distant.

She remembered the question Muen had asked her not long ago.

"A follower of the Love God? No, Mr. Muen."

Freya murmured to herself.

"What I believe in... is love."

Without hesitation, she drove the cold cone into her heart.

"With the whole of this body, I ask You for the power of sealing."

Freya spoke the incantation.

At the same time, Brian suddenly said:

"And mine too. Take everything I am."

Freya looked at him with adoration and did not refuse.

【Ke】

Blood flowed. The tail of the cone unfurled like a blooming black lotus.

At its heart, a crimson pupil turned—fixing upon the reflection in the pool.

【No! No! You mere ants! You cannot—cannot!】

The reflection raved and thrashed, curling into a warped crimson sphere and trying to flee.

But it was too late.

What was here was only a feeble remnant.

When the lotus closed again, both the blood pool and the reflection had vanished completely.

The moon shone bright over a world fallen silent.

...

"Cough, cough..."

Freya, the cone still piercing her chest, looked to the side and said apologetically:

"Sorry for making you watch a farce."

"No..."

Freed now, the others exchanged looks, at a loss for words. After a long moment, they bowed their heads together in respect.

"I didn’t do anything worthy of respect. On the contrary, I nearly got you all killed."

Freya smiled wryly, then hastened her words:

"There isn’t much time, so I’ll keep it short.

"It isn’t over yet. You need to go to that tower."

"The tower?"

Margarita frowned, looking at the looming giant silhouette within the blood-mist.

"The base?"

"No. Mr. Muen and Miss Liya already went to the base. You need to stay outside—and protect the tower."

"Protect? From who?"

"You’ll know soon."

Freya lifted her head to the moon.

In the air, a faint nauseating stench had begun to creep in.

"The mutation is about to start. Go. Quickly."

"...Okay."

They no longer hesitated—darting toward the giant tower at speed.

Freya lowered her gaze again, looking toward a certain spot.

"One more thing—the heretics who made it here might not be only me. I once found someone who died without even triggering a Teleportation Scroll—that should be that person’s work.

"So... be careful."

...

...

When all had gone, silence reigned again.

With nothing worth looking at, Freya tipped her head back to the bright moon once more.

"So beautiful... just like the first time I met you."

"Mm. Back then, there was just as much blood all around."

...

"You seem hurt. Do you need me to heal you?"

"No? Hmph. Nearly dead already... what a cold man."

...

"Wow, you can cook? Great—this grand task is yours from now on."

"How odd. I can brew the finest medicine, but I can’t even make decent porridge. Is this proof the Goddess is too fair? No talent for cooking? I refuse to admit such a thing."

...

"I’m going south. They say a plague broke out there. Are you coming?"

"Oh my, oh my. Saying you wouldn’t go, yet secretly protecting me anyway—what a tsundere man."

...

"Rest? I rested a whole two hours today."

"When I finish this medicine, I’ll rest properly. But right now... many are still waiting."

...

"Wonderful—the plague is cured. Want to go to the seaside? I hear the beaches here are beautiful."

"The sea is beautiful. But why are you hiding in the shade even now?"

...

"You asked my dream? Hmm... of course to become Saintess. Secretly telling you—I’m a Saintess candidate. Don’t tell anyone, okay?"

"You want to help me? Great. From now on, the job of protecting me is yours. I’m not good at fighting, and I feel like someone’s trying to hurt me lately. My personal safety... I’ll be relying entirely on you."

...

"You really... protected me so well."

"My Brian."

...

...

The moonlight blurred; the body grew cold.

The things she had promised away were being taken, little by little.

"It’s so dark. Brian, are you still here?"

A warm hand touched her cheek.

"I’m here."

"So warm... In my memory, I don’t think you’ve ever been this gentle."

The girl, lingering over that broad hand, asked softly:

"Sorry. Even after saving so many, I still couldn’t save you."

"Even so—will you stay with me like this, always, my Brian?"

"Of course."

That voice answered with such certainty:

"I’ll stay with you forever, my... Freya."