He was a warrior of the sun.

Once glorious, blessed under divine radiance. He took pride in it, upholding the will of Flame with honor. For that will, he would march through fire and steel without hesitation. So when he learned that heretics were hiding beneath Torrent City, he volunteered for the most dangerous mission without a second thought.

He led his comrades, tracking the [Root Serpent]'s location. And just as they neared that vile creature...

That cursed heretic appeared.

A presence cloaked entirely in shadow, flitting like a phantom through the dark, its grotesque limbs striking from the void. It lurked in every shadow, every silence, waiting to strike. The killing pressure it emitted had already sealed their fates before he could react.

Everyone was dead.

He was next.

His right arm had been torn open with a sickening rip, blood pouring freely from the wound. The heretic was not only monstrously fast but possessed inhuman strength—and worse, once submerged in shadow, physical attacks were almost entirely useless.

In this environment, it was nearly invincible.

“Kh... cough, cough, cough...”

The paladin grew weaker. His steel-forged body was covered in deliberately placed wounds that avoided vital organs yet bled endlessly. His enemy enjoyed this kind of drawn-out butchery, slicing open his pressure points so that scalding blood poured onto the fungal mat beneath them.

“O nameless War God... grant me... cough!”

His prayer to his god was interrupted by another fit of blood-soaked coughing. His strength was draining fast. He leaned heavily on his octagonal warhammer just to remain standing. Truthfully, with how much blood had pooled beneath him, he should’ve died already.

But his unwavering faith sustained him. In his fading eyes, his will burned bright like a flame.

He knew he’d made a grave mistake—one that got his entire squad wiped out. And the only reason he still drew breath was because he had to deliver word of this heretic to the other units. That was his duty. That was why he couldn’t die yet.

“You’re a stubborn one, foolish paladin. Your story is over.”

The voice that echoed from the surrounding shadows was sharp and insectile, like a chittering from jagged mandibles.

Even the heretic couldn’t help but acknowledge the paladin’s resilience.

But the fact that his strength came from prayer to the gods made it all the more intolerable to Moll, the defiler of divinity. The gods were unjust. That blind nun had seen it too—and still she played the fool.

“No... I am shielded by the Firstborn of the Sun…”

Still upright despite being on the verge of death, the paladin stood tall as though unscathed. Yet his bleeding had begun to slow—not due to healing, but because he was running dry. Even so, under the weight of his devotion, his body pressed on.

This was the skill: [Unyielding Faith].

“Tch. Then may the Abyss embrace you, and grind your bones into feed for our cause.”

Moll’s tone turned cold, no longer amused by the game. The darkness surrounding the paladin began to churn violently.

It was the foul essence of the Abyss, diffused by the fungal mat—pure poison. This final wave would claim the paladin’s life. Even if his will remained, he would rot in place, nothing but a skeleton in light armor. Pray to your nameless dragon-slaying god, see if he bothers to show.

The paladin gave a breathless chuckle.

“Better to lose limbs than lose one’s heart. …O gods, praise the sun…”

“A rich scent of blood…”

Suddenly—a clear, elegant voice rang out from the depths of the darkness. The roiling black mist recoiled like a beast sensing its predator. A blinding silver flash burst forth, cleaving the Abyssal fumes with a swift, twin-blade strike.

Amid the gloom stood a stunning figure—resplendent even in shadow.

The black-robed nun, dual blades aglow with faint [Radiance], stood proudly in front of the dying paladin. The shimmer that clung to her blades repelled the darkness, her innate gifts as a [Bloodbound Scholar] pushing back every trace of Abyss.

She was the rose that bloomed in ruin—Miss Maria. For the paladin who had struggled this far, her arrival was salvation itself. Tears welled in his eyes.

The gods had not forsaken him.

True faith, no matter how tested, would never be sullied.

“We meet again, gentleman.”

With a flick of her blades, Maria cleanly bisected several charging [Scorpion Weavers]. Her eyes, bright and unflinching, pierced through the dark, tracking a form that hadn’t yet shown itself—sharp and burning.

“…We meet again, Sister.”

Moll hadn’t expected to run into this troublesome nun here. His voice stilled, just for a second.

She’d grown stronger.

They were both of [Iron]-rank, and in this murky gloom their presences clashed head-on. Remembering how she’d blindsided him last time, his killing intent surged. In the instant his rage flared, Maria’s crimson eyes narrowed sharply—she had found him.

Skill: [Bloodsense]

Your blade reeks too deeply of blood.

Like a raptor in freefall, Maria lunged. Her twin blades crossed, targeting a nearby shadow. In a heartbeat, she closed the gap and struck!

“There!!”

At the same moment, Tyr and Ralph—who had silently closed in from behind—unleashed their steam-powered crossbows, blanketing the area Maria had charged toward. They didn’t need to aim at the target—just saturate the air with bolts, cutting off escape.

Clang!!

From the supposedly empty shadow, a curved, bloodstained dagger burst forth to clash violently with Maria’s swordstaff. Sparks flew from the impact, steel shrieking in the dark!

Last time, Maria had been overwhelmed by Moll’s raw Strength—at least 30 points. Though her Strength was still slightly lower, her other attributes had now been recalibrated. This time, she held her ground.

Twin blades versus curved dagger.

And in the next instant—

A graceful, deadly dance unfolded, Maria’s twin swords carving through the dark like silver ribbons of death.