The golden-haired elf was, naturally, Verdia, the Beast God's third wife.
After beheading the old priest, she didn't even look at the headless body on the floor.
Verdia advanced, her steps light and rhythmic. She descended through the secret passage she had previously identified.
The golden hue of her hair contrasted with the gloom that enveloped the underground.
The Healing Temple was only a facade. Beneath it stretched a network of ancient tunnels — a labyrinth of stone.
As she descended, she felt the wind ripple beside her, and then —
ZUUUN!
A high-pitched whine echoed down the corridor. Arrows sliced through the air, coming from side openings.
Verdia simply waved her hand. The air around her spun violently, and a rotating Wind Barrier sprang up.
The arrows ricocheted and fell to the ground with dry clacks, while the air current swirled.
With every step she took downward, more shots came — automatic beasts, magic-triggered traps, even poisoned darts.
But her magic wrapped her in an invisible dome. The arrows shattered on contact, and the darts were deflected.
At one point, even hidden archers began firing their own arrows, mixing them with the traps.
Verdia proceeded calmly. It was as if the elemental spirits danced around her presence.
She was an elf born with a natural affinity for Wind and Water. But Verdia also possessed talent for Earth.
That elemental triad made her a very versatile Chantless Magic user.
The arrows kept firing, but she didn't even look to the sides.
Above her, a group of human archers watched from the walkways. They were hidden among the ceiling beams, aiming from above.
One of them swore: "She doesn't get tired?"
Another answered: "What the hell is this? There's no Barrier Magic like that!"
But the commander growled, nervous: "Keep shooting! I want to see that bitch keep that barrier forever!"
He drew the longbow, took aim and fired. Another volley followed, dozens of arrows cutting the air.
Then… something changed. The wind barrier around the elf simply vanished.
The archers looked at each other, surprised.
Verdia raised her face — and smiled.
It was enough to chill everyone's blood. Without warning, she flexed her knees and leapt.
The movement was light, as if the wind itself propelled her.
The starry cloak billowed behind her, and the golden strands of her hair glittered beneath the torchlight.
During the jump, the archers reacted too late.
Verdia stepped on an arrow in midair. As if she were so light that an arrow could support her weight.
Then a second step — on another arrow. And a third.
She moved like a bird in full flight, or a fairy dancing upon the wind.
The archers stood frozen. The commander's eyes widened, his mind unable to comprehend what he saw.
"S-stop shooting!" he finally shouted, in desperation.
But it was already too late.
The second hail of arrows had been loosed the instant she jumped. And Verdia used the arrows themselves as steps, advancing through the air.
In less than a second, she crossed the entire distance between the floor and the walkway.
Time seemed to slow as she cut horizontally with her sword. A blade of wind emerged from the slash, extending for dozens of meters.
"What—?!"
Those were the commander's last words. The cutting wind passed through every shooter mercilessly.
The archers were cleaved in two, all at once.
Verdia landed on the ground softly, the wind still spinning around her. The sound of more footsteps echoed further down the tunnel.
Without a word, she leapt forward, with the lightness of the wind.
---
Verdia passed through several passages and corridors, each turn opening to a new chamber, each door revealing cells, makeshift halls and rustic workshops.
The size and scale of the underground base of the True Order exceeded the expectations she and the Legion had made.
What had initially been considered a small shelter, with twenty or thirty members, was actually much larger and much more populated.
She had already encountered thirty fighters alone, not counting the four entrances that had already been blocked by the Legion.
Additionally, there were the five Advanced-level warriors or mages she had already faced.
Five may sound few, but for a covert organization like this, having several Advanced fighters in the same base was a sign that its scale was growing fast.
But, at the same time, that served as a whetstone for Verdia.
She had not fought with her life on the line since she learned Chantless Magic.
Training was one thing; here, it was kill or be killed.
She had more combat experience than many warriors, but she still had to get used to her new abilities.
With her versatile magic, Verdia moved easily through the underground base.
At one moment, she finished off a swordsman of the Sword God Style with a Lightning; at another, she impaled a mage with an Earth Spike before he completed the final chant of his Magic.
No one who stepped in her path escaped unscathed.
Being a Saint-level swordswoman and a mage ranked as King in multiple schools, she was — on that scale — practically invincible against those fanatics.
Still, Verdia did not underestimate anyone. She had learned from Rygar to always be cautious, even if everything was under control, to read the battlefield.
In some cases, her Lightning Magic had another use. When some fanatics tried to take their own lives before being captured, the electricity paralyzed their bodies momentarily, rendering them unconscious without destroying them — this allowed interrogation and the gathering of information.
And then the supposed leader of the base revealed himself.
From the investigations, the True Order did not possess very high-level combatants — only a few Saints, maybe four or five.
There, now, one of them stood. He appeared as a knight, rigid posture, inflamed gaze. He looked at the room around him with contempt and said:
"The Disaster Witch. That's a title that suits you, demon."
Verdia only smiled as she wiped the blood from the blade with a quick motion in the air. She had no desire to converse with a bunch of fanatics; those were the sort of people for whom death was a medal.
The knight also did not seem interested in surrendering. He said:
"Not interested in talking? Fine. You are the Beast God's woman; before you die, I will dedicate your blood to Saint Milis, in the name of all those massacred by the Apocalypse Beast."
Fanatic words.
He wielded two axes, weapons typical of a North Saint.
Without further ado, the confrontation began. Verdia engaged in the fight with everything she had. She could defeat King-level warriors at range with magic; however, in confined space, she had to be careful.
But overall, she had the advantage.
---
Meanwhile, in another sector of the underground base, the air carried the metallic smell of blood, the torches trembled on the walls, casting shadows over the floor covered with bodies.
Approximately fifty corpses lay there — warriors, mages, assassins — all now reduced to an inert pile of flesh and steel.
Only three still breathed.
They were suspended, impaled on crosses of earth molded by magic — arms and legs trapped by hardened rocks, the bodies bent in pain.
In front of that scene, seated on an improvised stone bench, was a girl.
Young, with brown-reddish hair, green eyes and an indifferent expression. Maybe thirteen, fourteen at most.
She wore a silver armor, fitted to the body, engraved with wolf symbols and the Beast God emblem — similar to Verdia's armor.
It was Aisha Greyrat.
With one leg crossed over the other, she watched the battlefield calmly, while a beast-race warrior made his report.
"We identified that the base housed about two hundred combatants and another hundred support members, miss… that's seven or eight times more than expected…"
He took a deep breath, casting a quick glance at the three crucified.
Whoever arrived there uninformed could be fooled by their deplorable appearance, but the man in the center was in fact a Sword Saint. The other two were Advanced warriors of the same style.
Aisha merely ran her thumb over the hilt of the sword resting beside her, idly wiping away a small speck of dried blood.
She was thinking.
The Legion expected, at most, one Saint in this base. But not only were the forces stationed here much larger, there were two Saints.
Meanwhile, the warrior was still remembering the scene he had witnessed moments before.
Fifty combatants — warriors, assassins and mages — had tried to escape the base, led by that Sword Saint.
They ran down the passage when Aisha appeared alone before them.
The green-eyed girl raised her sword without saying a word. Gravity around her increased abruptly, distorting the air. The ground cracked, the rocks floated for an instant, and an invisible barrier enveloped her body.
The silence that followed lasted less than a second.
The air split. A single strike — a wind cut — pierced the entire enemy line. Warriors and mages fell before they even understood what had happened.
In less than ten seconds of battle, all had fallen.
Only three survived — and, in desperation, tried to activate their ritual suicide magics, the True Order's tactic to prevent capture.
But Aisha had already prepared and used Disturb Magic.
Now, they were there, crucified, their tongues ripped out by the girl who, in their eyes, could not be human.
Aisha sighed. The warrior immediately interrupted his report.
She stood up.
The girl's eyes scanned the prisoners for a moment. Blood dripped slowly from the mouthless mouths. The fanatics grunted, unable to defend themselves or plead for mercy.
Aisha showed no pity.
"Lothair is not in this base," she said finally, in a calm tone. "All other accesses should already have been cleared. Clean up the battlefield and regroup at the meeting point."
The warrior bowed immediately.
"Understood!" he replied, before hurrying away.
Aisha turned her gaze to the labyrinthine passages ahead. She sighed again.
Lothair.
Among the members of the inner circle of the Legion's highest level, some believed he was an apostle of Hitogami.
But Aisha did not.
She had studied the man. Read his background as a priest. He was a born manipulator.
He had always been cunning and malicious, but as a priest of Milis, he had had no opportunity to make use of his talent.
A catalyst — the fall of Milis — had freed his true self. Without rigid faith, he became free to move his pieces as he wished — using fear and hatred as tools.
Aisha narrowed her eyes.
This operation, by itself, proved his cunning.
The base had forces much larger than expected, organized with military discipline.
Of course, for the Legion, it was a minor mistake; they were far superior in strength.
He was not a threat now.
But… what about in ten years? Twenty?
If Lothair remained free, his name would survive — remembered by collective memory. And, eventually, people would begin to doubt.
For a Kingdom, doubt was more dangerous than a sharp blade.
And that, Aisha knew, was not the result Rygar desired.
But neither she nor Taes would dare bother Rygar with something like that.
How could they?
He was far beyond them.
"Ridiculous."
Aisha almost laughed to herself at the thought.
What kind of subordinates would they be if they could not handle this themselves?
She took a deep breath and straightened her posture.
She would deal with the Lothair problem.
Even if it took time.
She raised her gaze, now more determined.
"Helios."
Her voice resonated across the field.
From behind a rock, a roar answered.
A ruby-scaled dragon, with orange eyes and curved horns. The creature was about five meters tall.
Helios approached, his wings slowly spreading.
Aisha walked up to him without fear. She ran her hand along the scaly snout, and the dragon bowed his head.
"Let's go," she said in a low voice.
With a light jump, Aisha mounted the dragon's back.
Helios raised his neck, roared, and with a single beat of his wings, took flight.
The wind swept across the battlefield, raising dust and ashes.
And, above the clouds, the red dragon vanished into the winds, carrying away the Beast God's disciple.
-----
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