Julien felt his vision slowly begin to blur.

Even having reached the realm of a superhuman, catching up to Munareff had been impossible.

Munareff had already arrived—and his hand was reaching out toward Deneb.

In such a situation, all Julien could do was throw himself in front of Deneb.

“......”

That was all he had left. He had burned through every ounce of strength—he didn’t even have enough left to protect himself.

And so, Munareff’s strike pierced straight through his chest.

But he couldn’t collapse like this.

‘Until Ereneth arrives...’

Ghislain and Grondal were both held down by their opponents. Rahamod and Tagmah were in dire straits as well, but the only one who might be able to come to their aid immediately was Ereneth.

He had to hold out—somehow, some way, until then.

‘Just a little longer...’

Julien held Deneb tightly in his arms with all the strength he had left.

His own life didn’t matter anymore.

The only thing that filled his mind was the need to protect her.

And then—

Fwaaah!

A light so brilliant it defied description washed over his body.

Ah...

Even through his dimming consciousness, Julien smiled. He knew—instinctively—that Deneb was safe now.

The light was warm, like a mother’s embrace.

It was the kind of warmth that could shield one from the sharpest blades of the world. Comforting, peaceful, wrapping around every wound.

The pain radiating from the hole in his chest began to fade. Enveloped in that spreading warmth, Julien slowly lost consciousness.

Soon, the light spread in all directions, filling the space.

Everyone stood in a daze, their eyes fixed on the radiance.

The sight resembled a miracle—a divinity descended from the heavens itself.

But not all received that light with joy.

Ssssssshhhhh!

“Grrraaaagh!”

The priests of the Salvation Order groaned in agony, their faces twisted in pain.

The light burned their flesh and blood. Even breathing became an unbearable torment.

Rahamod and Tagmah were no exceptions. In fact, because of their immense power, they seemed to suffer even more than the others.

But for everyone else, the effect was completely different.

The light wrapped around their wounds, erased pain, and mended broken bodies and hearts.

Ghislain laughed heartily as he felt his body healing.

The others hadn’t yet grasped what was happening. Even Grondal stared blankly at the sky, entranced by the light descending from above.

‘So that’s what it was...’

This phenomenon—this miracle—had never been properly observed or recorded until now.

That was why Deneb could be called the “first true Saintess.”

Channeling.

A connection to a great being beyond dimensions.

A miracle that only a Saintess could manifest.

And now, Deneb had brought it into reality.

Once this power was unleashed, no one could escape. It was a force that interfered directly with the laws of the world—a divine judgment.

No matter how strong Rahamod and Tagmah were, they could not withstand this.

In the histories of the future, not a single person had ever withstood this power...

Ghislain briefly thought of Alfoy but shook his head vigorously. That had been nothing more than a coincidence piled upon coincidence.

Ssshhhhhh!

Even as his body burned with searing pain, Rahamod couldn’t take his eyes off Deneb.

“Wh... what is this... How can such power exist...?”

He was at a loss for words.

An overwhelming divine force—far beyond belief.

That power was dominating the entire area now.

Wherever the light touched his body, it scorched him. But that wasn’t the only problem.

‘M-my body won’t move properly...’

An invisible, massive pressure was crushing his entire form. There was no way to run.

Gasping for air, Rahamod turned his gaze to Ghislain.

Everyone else was paralyzed with shock at this incomprehensible phenomenon—but the man standing before him was smiling.

With a trembling voice, Rahamod asked:

“You... Do you know what this power is?”

“Channeling.”

“What... is that?”

“It’s a connection. To a goddess.”

“......!!”

Rahamod’s eyes widened in disbelief. And he wasn’t the only one. Tagmah, Ereneth, Lionel, even Grondal—all were equally shaken.

A connection to a goddess? None of them had ever heard of such a thing—let alone imagined it possible.

How could a mere human form a link with a god?

Despite the crushing pressure, Rahamod slowly turned his head.

Deneb was holding the unconscious Julien in her arms. From her body, the divine light continued to pour from the heavens.

Rahamod muttered in a daze:

“How could this happen... This impossible...”

A god, who should no longer be able to interfere in the physical world, was interfering.

He could understand that the priestess served as a medium—but how such a thing was even possible remained beyond him.

Then, he suddenly noticed another light source.

“...No... Is that...?”

The necklace Deneb wore was also glowing brightly—or more precisely, the jewel set within it.

That light was connected to the heavenly beam descending on Deneb.

“A Sacred Stone? Are you telling me that woman... can wield a Sacred Stone? That her body can actually contain a god’s power...?”

To that, Ghislain grinned sharply.

“That’s right. Deneb is the real ‘Saintess.’”

“Saintess...”

It wasn’t that no one had ever been granted the title before. But it had always been just a ceremonial name.

A symbolic rank given to priestesses with notable achievements or strong divine power.

But now, everyone in Vallscrum knew.

What a true Saintess really was.

The one who received the god’s response. The one who brought the god’s power to this earth.

From now on, the title ‘Saintess’ would carry a completely ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ different weight.

Ghislain slowly twisted his sword and asked Rahamod:

“You just said ‘Sacred Stone,’ didn’t you? What do you know about it?”

Rahamod didn’t answer right away.

He stared into Ghislain’s eyes for a long moment, then finally spoke with difficulty.

“So... you people really don’t know anything about the Sacred Stones.”

“......”

“The Pope... clearly doesn’t either. If he did... he never would’ve let that woman go unchecked.”

“Hmph... So the Sacred Stones really are a critical threat to you lot, huh.”

“No matter what you do... you’ll never understand what they’re for.”

“Hmm... I wonder. Maybe they’re something that can harm you lot. Like... say, an artifact that can seal the Demonic Realm?”

Rahamod’s face went stiff at that. Ghislain studied his reaction.

He’d said it as a shot in the dark, guided only by knowledge of the future—but it seemed to have hit closer to the mark than expected. Still, he couldn’t be certain based on expression alone.

At the very least, it was clear the Sacred Stone had some effect on the Demonic Realm. And with Deneb now awakened...

Even that much made obtaining the Sacred Stone worthwhile.

Rahamod said nothing more to Ghislain.

His eyes were locked on a single person—Deneb.

She had already been deemed dangerous.

Now that she had awakened as a true Saintess, she had to die.

Grrrnnnnch!

Rahamod clenched his teeth as he tightened his grip on Ghislain. His life force was burning away, turning his hair stark white.

“Executor... Kill that woman. Now.”

At Rahamod’s words, Munareff gritted his teeth and forced his body to move.

“Ggghhhh!”

Even Munareff’s body was burning under the downpour of light. But he too understood how dangerous the current situation was.

He couldn’t remain in this radiance for long. With every breath, it felt as if his chest was burning from within.

“Graaagh!”

With a scream, Munareff yanked his hand out from Julien’s chest.

Then, detonating even his life force, he tried to attack Deneb.

But he never reached out.

And it wasn’t because of the pressure crushing his body.

“Th-this can’t be...”

One of his arms was simply gone.

Exactly the part that had pierced Julien’s body.

It had evaporated—as if the very essence of its existence had been erased, without him even realizing.

“Aaaaaagh!”

Munareff shrieked in terror, stumbling backward.

And then—his eyes met Deneb’s, who was cradling Julien in her arms.

Her gaze held no emotion. It was calm. Yet at the same time, it radiated a majesty that brooked no defiance.

Amid the storm of divine power, Deneb softly whispered:

“Goddess... let your will descend upon this place.”

Fwoooooom!

Once more, a wave of light swept across the battlefield.

Munareff was consumed by the divine force rushing toward him.

“Gaaaaaaah!”

Thick black smoke billowed from his body.

The darkness writhed, unable to withstand the light. It burned, trying in vain to escape.

In the end, Munareff collapsed and rolled across the ground.

“P-please... spare me! Hrrkkk!”

He had completely lost the will to fight. Even his deep, unshakable faith had been broken.

All that remained was a primal desire to survive—nothing more.

But the light did not stop.

Soon, it began to spread wide, as if it would envelop all of Vallscrum.

Far away, the dwarves who had been fighting felt the holy light descend upon them.

They were stunned—and simultaneously, they sensed a change they couldn’t understand.

“Wh-what the...?”

Their wounds began to close.

Broken bones realigned.

Strength returned to their exhausted legs.

“Our bodies... are healing?”

And before their eyes—something even more unbelievable began to unfold.

Guuuuuaaaaaaah!

The undead and chimeras surging from all directions screamed in agony as they collapsed.

Those touched by the light crumbled to ash and scattered on the wind. The grotesque chimeras shattered apart as the black magic sustaining them unraveled.

“Graaaaah!”

The dark mages and Salvation Order priests writhed in torment, their bodies twisted by the holy flames.

The dwarves still had no idea what miracle was occurring.

But one thing, they understood instinctively:

This was their moment to strike back.

A thunderous roar rose across the battlefield.

“Uwaaaaaaah!”

“This is it! They’re falling apart!”

“This light is on our side! Push forward!”

The dwarves roared as one.

The fire returned to their eyes.

Within the hearts of warriors once drowned in despair, the flames of victory began to burn.

Iron-armored dwarves surged forward with a thunderous charge.

With each swing of their weapons, undead were sent flying and destroyed, and the chimeras were torn apart without resistance.

Even the dark haze that had cloaked the sky was being pushed back by the light, vanishing before it.

“We can win! The light is with us!”

“Smash them! Break this darkness to pieces!”

“The dark shall freeze, and we shall burn!”

From every direction came the war cries of the dwarves—a chorus that now sounded like the very proclamation of victory.

Rahamod, his face pale and worn, still had eyes only for Deneb.

Ghislain slowly pulled his sword from Rahamod’s abdomen. The darkness that had once bound him had already burned away.

But Rahamod didn’t even glance at Ghislain. His gaze remained fixed on Deneb.

At last, he opened his mouth, his voice soaked in despair.

“...We made the greatest mistake of our lives.”

There was deep remorse in Rahamod’s tone.

They had realized the danger far too late. They should have understood the moment they spared the elven High Chief.

Their greatest threat was that woman.

Now, the Church would face a much harder battle. That woman—called Saintess—would trample them beneath the power of the goddesses.

And ironically, they themselves had enabled her awakening.

Not only had they failed... they had created their most powerful enemy.

And for that, he felt regret—and guilt.

As Rahamod stared blankly at Deneb, Ghislain raised his sword toward him.

“You were one hell of a tough bastard. I almost wanted to fight you with my true self.”

“......”

“If you’ve got any last words, I’ll listen. It’s a courtesy I give the strong.”

Only then did Rahamod finally turn his eyes to Ghislain.

Now, his gaze was calm—composed.

“I, too, offer respect for the strength you’ve shown. Even in death, I won’t forget you. But...”

He continued, meeting Ghislain’s eyes with a quiet, weighty look.

“...When the noblest light falls, our king shall rise.”

It was both a warning—and a declaration.

And perhaps... the last hope of stopping the Saintess.

Ghislain’s brow twitched slightly.

He had seen someone in his dreams who stood against the Saintess.

The Adversary.

This must be the one Rahamod referred to.

Ghislain said nothing more.

Quietly, he brought his sword down upon Rahamod’s neck.

Swick!

Rahamod, a prophet and one of the Apostles in Ghislain’s dreams—one of the mightiest of all—

—his head fell to the ground.