Tagmah watched, eyes brimming with fury, as Rahamod’s head fell to the ground.

His breath caught in his throat. He struggled with all his might to move, but drained of all strength and caught in the storm of divine power, his body wouldn’t obey.

“Ghhh... Why... why is this happening...?”

What spilled from his lips wasn’t so much speech as a guttural wail of rage and despair.

Victory had been within reach. One more step and it would all have been over.

And then—the Saintess had appeared.

No one could’ve foreseen such a turn of events.

With her arrival, the entire flow of battle had been overturned into utter despair. The other priests and dark mages who had accompanied him were collapsing one after another.

Tagmah clenched his teeth and pushed through with the last dregs of his strength.

“Grondal!!”

He roared like a beast, reaching out.

His aim: to at least take the Dwarf King down with him.

But his weakened attack stood no chance against Grondal, who had already recovered.

Thunk.

Grondal blocked the strike with ease.

At this point, Tagmah was no different from an ordinary man. The terrifying energy that once radiated from him had long since burned away.

“...Miracles always come when you least expect them.”

Grondal’s voice rang heavy in the air.

Everyone present here today had witnessed a miracle. And that miracle declared Vallscrum victorious in this war.

“Now that the true Saintess has appeared, you lot have failed once again.”

Grondal, as if delivering a prophecy, raised his halberd high.

Tagmah glared at him, gasping out his final breath.

“...When the noblest light descends, our king will rise.”

“A king, huh.”

Grondal gave a short, dismissive laugh and asked:

“You think that man will be stronger than the Saintess who channels the goddess’s power?”

“If the Saintess is a proxy of the goddesses... then the King is the proxy of the god we serve. No matter how much you struggle, in the end, you will kneel before Him. After all, it was our god who cast the goddesses down.”

“Good. In that case... I’ll just cut off his head next.”

Crack!

Grondal swung his halberd, and Tagmah’s head was torn off in an instant.

Another Salvation Order priest writhed in agony within the storm of divine power before being slain by Ereneth.

Munareff, meanwhile, tried to crawl away.

His eyes were fully consumed by terror, and his breathing had become ragged, like a cornered beast.

Ghislain approached, looking down on him.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’d let you go once—but next time we met, you’d die.”

“U-uhhh...”

Munareff continued to crawl across the ground, desperate to escape.

But Ghislain raised his sword and brought it straight down upon Munareff’s neck.

Swick!

Without even the will to resist, Munareff’s head flew off helplessly.

Ghislain slowly brushed his hair back and muttered,

“See? This is why you don’t pick a fight with someone just out for a quiet stroll.”

He hadn’t forgotten what had happened in the elven forest. Ghislain Ferdium was a man who quietly held onto grudges—grudges that smoldered long in his chest.

Uwaaaaaaaah!

A roar echoed from afar. Ghislain didn’t even need to look—he knew.

It was a cheer celebrating an overwhelming victory.

Against all odds, they had won—miraculously so. And at the very center of that victory was one figure:

Deneb.

The one who would now be known as the Saintess.

Everyone turned their gaze to her.

She was still holding the collapsed Julien in her arms, eyes closed.

She said nothing. Did nothing.

She simply held him—silently, peacefully.

And yet, everyone knew Julien was safe.

Because Deneb was smiling gently.

Ghislain let out a small chuckle at the sight.

“Well, yeah. If he’d died after being bathed in that much divine power, that’d be the real scam.”

The divine storm that had erupted here was unlike anything seen before.

As long as he hadn't been outright killed, there was no doubt Julien would be saved. Hell, even if he’d lost a limb, it probably would’ve grown back.

Fwaaaaah...

The light pouring over Deneb began to thin, then gradually faded away. The Sacred Stone lost its radiance alongside it.

Everyone—save for Ghislain—was still staring at Deneb, stunned.

Lionel, in particular, was in complete shock.

‘The Saintess... is that really what she is...?’

Even the Pope, said to wield the greatest divine power in the world, had never shown anything like this.

The power Deneb had displayed just now... was enough to make one believe the goddess herself had descended.

How could such a miracle dwell in a mere low-ranking priestess?

‘We—we must inform His Holiness the Pope immediately...’

The Sacred Stone had responded.

The same Sacred Stone that had never once reacted throughout history... had now responded to a lowly priestess.

This was an event that would shake the history of the entire continent. Every king, every leader of every race, would be paying close attention.

Grondal let out a thunderous laugh as he slumped to the ground.

“Amazing! Incredible! Who would’ve thought that the Guardian Stone—thought to be nothing more than a symbol—actually held the goddess’s power!”

Grondal, like Iralniel, had thought of the Sacred Stone as nothing more than an artifact of historical value.

Sure, it was treated with reverence—it granted strong legitimacy and authority to its bearer—but that was all.

But now it was clear.

They had all been deeply mistaken.

That object truly held divine power.

They had merely been blind to it because no one had ever been able to wield it.

Now, its rightful owner had appeared.

Which meant—none of them could stand stubborn any longer.

Grondal turned to Ghislain.

“Hey, mage.”

“Yes?”

“That woman... no, that Saintess—did the pointy-eared ones give her that Guardian Stone?”

“They did. The High Chief of the Elves personally affixed it to her necklace.”

“Hmph. So even those tree-huggers knew quality when they saw it, huh.”

Grondal grumbled to himself, then suddenly declared, loud and clear:

“Alright! I’ve decided!”

“Decided what, exactly?”

“You came here to get our Guardian Stone, didn’t you? I’ll give it to the Saintess.”

At that, Ghislain beamed.

Truth be told, if they had asked outright, Grondal wouldn’t have refused.

But since Iralniel had already handed one over, he was clearly trying to save face by offering it of his own volition.

Ghislain gave him a slight bow.

“Thank you. It seems this journey wasn’t in vain after all.”

“Thanks to you lot, we won this battle. Hahahahah!”

As he listened to the conversation, Lionel was drenched in cold sweat.

‘Th-this is bad...’

Iralniel had already said the Sacred Stone formally belonged to Deneb. Now Grondal had declared the same.

If the Pope tried to seize it by force, both races would rebel.

That meant Deneb would have to offer it of her own accord.

But...

‘Is that really the right thing to do...?’

Lionel swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Deneb.

It felt like the Sacred Stone had already found its master.

Even if Deneb did offer it up to the Pope, others might try to stop her.

She was the first person to awaken the power of the goddess—and now she had even awakened the Sacred Stone.

She was the embodiment of divine will. The symbol of salvation.

It was only natural that all the priests would kneel before her in worship.

The real problem... was whether the Pope would accept that.

‘No... no way...’

The Pope was a terrifying man. Lionel, who had served him closely, knew his true nature better than anyone.

A man who believed himself to be the sole agent of divine will, the only true savior of the world.

One who truly believed he alone was the embodiment of the goddess’s will.

There was no way a Pope like him would willingly acknowledge a Saintess.

‘If that happens...’

Lionel glanced at Ghislain.

The man he’d observed until now was chaos incarnate—impossible to [N O V E L I G H T] predict using common logic.

And Lionel instinctively understood.

‘That lunatic won’t stay quiet.’

Even if Deneb were to obediently offer up the Sacred Stone, Ghislain wouldn’t let it slide. That would inevitably lead to a clash with the Pope.

The problem was—this lunatic really would take on the entire Empire.

‘Ugh... what am I supposed to do?’

Lionel was a knight of devout faith. After witnessing the miracle firsthand, he couldn’t deny the power of the Saintess.

But that didn’t mean he could simply take Deneb’s side either.

He was an agent of the Papal Office—he had pledged loyalty to the Pope. More than that, he was here on a direct mission from the Pope himself.

Gripping his head in both hands, Lionel groaned in turmoil. His greatest fear now was a conflict between the Pope and the Saintess.

While Lionel wrestled with his thoughts, Ereneth turned her gaze toward someone else.

Julien.

What Deneb had done was miraculous—but what had shocked Ereneth even more was what Julien had shown her.

He had thrown himself forward to protect someone precious to him. Sacrificed himself completely.

That raw, desperate emotion had pushed him past his limits—into the realm of the superhuman.

It was a world Ereneth, despite her long years, had never once felt or imagined.

And it made sense. Elves typically attained transcendence through harmony with nature, through detached spiritual understanding.

To reach such a realm through pure emotion—through something like Julien’s love and desperation—was unheard of.

Suddenly, Ghislain’s words came back to her.

— “Julien? He’s a fine guy. Cooler than most princes I’ve met.”

She had been curious after hearing that, even hopeful. But when she first met Julien, she’d admittedly been a little disappointed.

Yes, he had the graceful appearance of a prince. But elves did not put much value in appearances.

His abilities were respectable. His affinity with spirits had been quite impressive.

But none of it had been enough to justify Ghislain’s praise—not in Ereneth’s eyes.

His personality wasn’t bad either—calm, gentle, courteous—but still, it hadn’t matched Ghislain’s glowing endorsement.

And yet—

To think he harbored that kind of passion in his heart.

‘...You really were amazing.’

Ereneth revised her opinion of Julien. He was exactly as Ghislain had described him.

Deneb was the same. She had created a miracle no one could have imagined—for Julien.

It was something that could only happen when emotion reached its absolute peak.

A pure and overwhelming feeling for one another.

That feeling... had moved even the gods.

But watching the two of them only stoked a longing deep inside Ereneth.

‘I want that too...’

She bit her lower lip without realizing it.

That was it.

A yearning so powerful it could set everything ablaze.

Elves were a people distanced from such emotion.

But now... she wanted it.

Whether it was conviction, ambition—or love.

That intense, all-consuming emotion elves were not meant to feel... she wanted to experience it herself.

And so, as each of them wrestled with their own thoughts, they all looked toward Deneb and Julien.

Deneb was holding the unconscious Julien tightly in her arms.

It was as if her entire body was declaring: I won’t let you be hurt again. I’ll never let you go.

The light from the heavens had vanished, but the divine storm still lingered in the air, its aftershocks slowly spreading—almost as if to proclaim the Saintess’s birth to the world.

There were still enemies left, and the battle wasn’t completely over. But there was no longer any need for the people here to intervene.

That’s how overwhelming the current momentum was. The enemies were weakening and collapsing on their own—crushed by the divine aftershock alone.

“Haaah... I guess it’s over now.”

Ghislain finally let himself relax. He had just taken down two of the most dangerous foes he'd been worrying about.

But then—suddenly—he had a gnawing feeling that something important had been forgotten.

And just as if to remind him, Dark burst out and shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Is this over already!? Then get moving, you idiot!”

“What?”

“Kyle’s in danger! He’s about to die—no, he is dying!”

At Dark’s urgent cry, Ghislain’s expression went cold.

They’d spent too long here.

There had almost certainly been a high-ranking priest of the Salvation Order stationed where Kyle was as well.

And Kyle, with his current level of strength, had no chance against a superhuman-level enemy.

“Damn it...”

A terrible premonition ran down Ghislain’s spine.

Julien awakening as a superhuman, and Deneb unlocking her Saintess powers—those were predetermined. It had happened even in the past, before Ghislain ever interfered.

But now the past had changed.

Two of the Apostles are dead.

Those were people who, in the original timeline, had battled alongside the Hero’s companions.

Their deaths now meant something that wasn’t supposed to happen had occurred.

Could it be...

If the Apostles had died, then perhaps one of the Hero’s companions was meant to die as well.

It could very well be the world’s attempt to restore balance.

A price for changing the past.

And that—was something Ghislain could never accept.

If Kyle were to die here, then killing those Apostles would have meant nothing.

Kyle was supposed to live—to fight alongside the Hero and save the world.

And more than that...

He was a friend and comrade Ghislain absolutely did not want to lose.

Ghislain forced out every last drop of mana he had left. His body screamed under the weight of exhaustion, but there was no time to rest.

BOOOOOM!

He rocketed in the direction where Kyle had been stationed—like a bomb detonating in mid-air.