Behind the Wall, Lust Domain's Capital City, Paradise
October 7, 2025
The air in the training field was heavy with the scent of blood and metal.
The cries of dying monsters echoed faintly, swallowed by the vast stone walls that surrounded the place. Beyond those walls lay the silence and prayer of the church; within them, only violence and discipline existed.
A sharp ring of steel sliced through the air. Something wet hit the ground with a dull thud.
Seraphine took a step back, her breathing steady, her expression impassive.
The creature before her, a Narkal with gray, leathery skin and jagged teeth, slumped forward, its severed limb still twitching in the dirt.
She flicked her wrist, and the blade in her hand straightened from its coiled, whip-like form back into a sword. Not a drop of blood touched her gloves.
"Next," she said softly.
The handler hesitated, but she didn't wait. "Number eight."
A cage rattled open at the edge of the field. Another Narkal crawled out, this one taller, its eyes glowing faint yellow, saliva dripping down its chin. It snarled, then charged.
Seraphine didn't move until it was almost upon her. Then, with a precise flick, her sword unraveled again into its serpentine form, slicing through the air with a hiss. The blade coiled around the creature's arm and leg, tightening with a grinding sound before she yanked hard.
Flesh tore. The Narkal's screech turned into a gurgle before its head hit the ground first.
She exhaled quietly and straightened, her long blonde hair swaying slightly with the motion.
Her outfit, what passed as church attire in her faction, was a mockery of sanctity. A high-slit dress, black stockings, a garter belt, and a thin veil that barely covered her shoulders.
She looked more like a saint sculpted by a sinner's hand, every curve more pronounced. Yet her eyes held nothing of lust or softness, only calm, honed focus.
"Number nine," she called.
Another cage burst open. This one was faster. She met it halfway, sliding low as the sword retracted to its shorter form, slicing through the creature's knee. She spun, the blade cracking out again, severing its hand as it tried to grab her. Her movements were a blur of control, each strike measured with frightening efficiency.
From an outside perspective, it almost looked like fury guided her hands, but it wasn't, nor was it some kind of thrill. It was something colder, something that mirrored vengeance rather than passion. Every kill carried the weight of an old, private grief, though she no longer remembered when that grief had stopped hurting and started driving her forward.
When the creature finally collapsed, she stood among the bodies, the floor beneath her painted in crimson streaks.
A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, catching the dim light filtering through the stone walls.
The moisture made her already scandalous vestment cling to her curves, the fabric molding to her form in ways that would make a sculptor weep. Her breathing remained steady, but the slight dampness at her collarbone and the way her dress hugged her waist only served to amplify an allure she wasn't even trying to project.
She was a vision of violence clad in temptation. "Number ten."
Her voice didn't tremble, her steps didn't falter. The monsters kept coming, and she kept calling, each one dragged into the rhythm of her heeled death dance.
The sharp clicks of her heels echoed between each kill, a steady counterpoint to the wet thuds of falling flesh.
Then came another sound, soft at first, but distinct enough to break her focus.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"Quite the performance, Seraphine."
The voice came from behind her, smooth and mature, carrying the kind of authority that didn't need to be raised.
Seraphine turned, her blade still coiled loosely at her side.
The Bishopess stood at the edge of the field, her robes untouched by the wind or blood, watching with faint amusement.
Seraphine's previous cool expression melted into a radiant smile. "Bishopess! Thank you for the praise. I still have much to learn."
The Bishopess's lips curled upward almost unconsciously at Seraphine's greeting. She felt that the nun had a way to cheer the people around her with just her smile. It was almost supernatural.
"Do not sell yourself short—your progress is fast, I can guarantee it. On another note, though, it looks like Serpent Blade really suits you. I'm glad we found some use for the techniques lying around since forever."
Seraphine's smile turned into a sheepish grin as she twirled the retracted sword's pommel around her fingers. "Well, I've been told that my talent lies with the whip, and this weapon's design is not far from it, so..."
The Bishopess nodded in assent. "The one who told you that clearly has a good eye. However, unlike a whip, the Serpent Blade can offer you more room to maneuver if enemies get close enough, so it's the perfect choice for you."
Seraphine's eyes lit up. "Yes! It was so frustrating to whip those ugly things when they got too close. Fortunately, with this, I can finish them off easily enough." She then tilted her head. "By the way, Bishopess, is there anything I can help you with?"
It was rare to see the Bishopess out of the church, so Seraphine curiously asked.
The Bishopess held her faint smile while answering. "It's nothing urgent, no need to fret. I just wanted to ask you how your embodiment is progressing?"
Seraphine's complexion took a shade for the worse. "It barely advanced, but...!" Her voice suddenly turned resolute. "As long as my man comes back, everything will become a breeze! Please trust me, M'am!"
The Bishopess cast her a helpless look. "Dear, how can I not trust such an honest and faithful woman? But this is more about the unpredictability of life. Anything can happen, after all."
But even as the Bishopess continued to speak, she noticed that Seraphine's stubbornness didn't abate at all. 'It was always like this when it came to that "man" with Seraphine,' she thought amusedly.
"Well, then, do you at least know where this man is? Maybe I can do something about it?"
Seraphine's whole visage glowed brilliantly, almost blindingly, the moment those words left the Bishopess's lips. "Really?!?"
"Really."
"Thank you—!" To her astonishment, the Bishopess was suddenly enveloped in a tight hug.
"Dear... about your man's location?" The older lady sighed, but a fond look still graced her eyes when she looked at the excited woman.
"Oh! Right..." Seraphine let her go, flustered. "Sorry!"
She tried to get hold of her composure, but the possibility of seeing Ashen again almost overwhelmed her.
She was about to reveal his location, but then she hesitated for a split second. What if they wanted to eliminate him, instead of bringing him to her?
But that thought didn't last long before she crushed it. Ashen was already suffering immensely, and the people of the church were nothing short of family to her during her stay.
If she couldn't trust them now, then she might as well not trust anyone anymore. Besides, they knew that she was not willing to live if any harm befell him.
She would like to think that the amount of obsession she showed toward him clued them in to at least that much.
"The place is called the Ashbastion. It's on the frontlines."
That was where Lucia's recruiters went, at least, according to Nancy. She added that bit only in her thoughts.
"..."
Seraphine had to break the sudden silence that fell upon them after she mentioned the Ashbastion. "Is something wrong, Bishopess?"
"Seraphine... Did you mention the Ashbastion just now?"
"Yes?"
"Ah... how tragic..." The Bishopess put a hand on her forehead in lamentation.
"What do you mean?" The voice that asked the question lacked its usual cheerfulness.
"Sera... you have to stay calm and listen to me." The Bishopess spoke carefully. "The place that your man went to is known as the meatgrinder."
"..."
"The death rate of recruits there is more than 50%." Her voice got somber as she recited the crushing number, but it didn't seem like she was done yet.
"The men who survive for a year are less than 20%."
"..."
"Not even 5% make it past five years."
"..."
"And not a single soldier went past fifteen years, not even their generals... Such is the fate of the Bloodwall."
"..."
"..."
By the end of it, only pity stayed on the Bishopess's face, while Seraphine's became ice cold with only an obsessive light shimmering beneath her pupils, something dangerously close to madness.
The transformation was striking. Her sky-blue eyes, usually warm and inviting, had taken on an almost crystalline quality, beautiful in the way a frozen lake is beautiful.
The light within them didn't flicker; it burned with an intensity that seemed to see through reality itself and reject what it found there.
It was beautiful, it was terrifying, it was… captivating.
"Little Sera, are you alright?" The Bishopess hesitantly called out. "I will do my best to try to extract him from there, but don't get your hopes up. The Bloodwall Army doesn't allow deserters above all else, so it will mostly be a futile effort."
Seraphine nodded slowly. "I'm alright." A pause. "Thank you, Bishopess."
The look in her eyes clued the Bishopess in that she was anything but alright, though. "Really?"
"Really." Seraphine finally smiled, but the smile was cold. "He can't die, after all. The man I chose won't fall to mere monsters."
The matter-of-fact tone was spoken with such raw conviction, with so much unshakable faith, that anyone who heard her could only believe.
If she had proclaimed night as day in such a tone, it wouldn't have sounded absurd.
And the Bishopess was the first to witness how such words seemed to break the obsessional aura that previously seemed to be barely held by a leash.
Now, she looked less like a woman receiving devastating news and more like a goddess who'd just been told the laws of nature, and had decided they didn't apply to her.
…Yet the bishopess didn't register any of that… having finally uncovered the true nature of the obsession; it simply was the belief in him, a belief so strong… so powerful, that it warped into mania.
And such a belief led to something unexpected.
[Ecstatic Bond^ (Basic-)]