"A bit of a loss, but… it's still the best solution."
Muttering that as self-comfort, Hel pressed the new trait onto her body — together with the Holy Battle-Qi Affinity she'd taken from Pablo.
After Niv implanted the elemental crystal into her stomach, the first wisp of holy energy began to gather around her.
Instantly, Hel felt her mind clear — the fog of desire, the intrusive whispers, the restless impulses — all vanished like smoke.
But when she reopened her Trait Interface, she still found nothing unusual.
"Either the trait never formed," she murmured, "or I haven't truly purged the mental corruption — just suppressed it."
Later, when she summoned Nicky for inspection, Hel's findings were the same: no anomalies at all.
"Looks like if I really want to solve this, I'll have to identify who's behind it and what method they used.
Only by breaking through their cognitive block can I find the real cure."
"For now, that's all we can do," Niv agreed, glowing eyes flickering with streams of data.
"But the contamination on Master's soul is already very weak, and Niv's own mind has stabilized.
So this shouldn't hinder your next operation.
Maybe the key to resolving this lies along the same path as your mission."
"You mean… the Beast Witch?"
The reminder made Hel recall what Nicky had reported earlier.
Niv had said the Beast Witch seemed controlled by someone.
That witch was a follower of the Life Lineage — a type the Supreme Church deemed heretical — yet she was working for the Holy Tribunal.
That alone was suspicious enough.
Now, with Niv's hint, Hel was almost certain: the Beast Witch, too, had fallen under another witch's control.
And perhaps, through her, Hel could uncover the true mastermind.
"Alright. Tomorrow morning, I'll visit the Disease Witch.
If things go as planned, I'll soon have my answers."
She reassured Niv, glanced at the clock, and retired to her room.
That night, Hel dreamed — a strange, vivid dream.
She stood upon a colossal golden scale, its surface engraved with intricate sigils that resembled alchemical runes — but far more complex.
Before her, a goddess-like phantom, her eyes wrapped in silk, appeared and lifted the scale to her face.
As the phantom opened her mouth, a deep, age-worn voice — tinged with quiet sorrow — echoed through the void:
"What is justice?"
Crack.
At that question, the golden scale beneath Hel's feet began to tilt and fall.
Her heart jolted — she instinctively knew:
if she allowed the scale to fall completely, all of her holy energy would vanish.
Even her new holy trait would disintegrate.
But she did not panic.
She didn't know what this vision truly was, yet she was certain that answering carelessly would only bring disaster.
"Justice, huh…" she muttered. "Funny — when I awakened other attributes, none of them pulled a spectacle like this.
But the moment I touch holy light, I get this dramatic scene.
Typical of those sanctimonious types — even their powers are pretentious."
After a pause, she tried a neutral, textbook answer:
"Justice is that which aligns with the natural progress of society—"
But halfway through, she stopped cold.
She remembered Pablo — the so-called righteous paladin who claimed that slaughtering all witches was justice, no matter the cost.
By his definition, killing the innocent to uphold a "pure world" was righteous.
Was that really justice?
She remembered little Vesti, the newborn Witch of Cuisine — harmless, cheerful — slaughtered along with her family by Pablo's hand.
That, too, was "justice"?
To others, it was butchery.
To him, divine duty.
And the Orlad brothers — both men of holy light.
When asked the same question, perhaps they too were tested.
The Virtue Lineage upheld the Eight Great Virtues, yet both brothers betrayed those ideals:
one sacrificed an entire city to save himself;
the other betrayed comrades for revenge.
Was that "sacrifice"?
Or merely ego wrapped in pious words?
A faint smile crept across Hel's lips.
At last, she understood why those of the so-called Virtue Lineage — the shining saints of the Knight Empire — could speak of purity while committing filth.
Their "virtues" were nothing more than masks — tools for rationalizing desire and cruelty.
To Hel, the empire's "Eight Great Virtues" were the grandest joke of all.
If she foolishly echoed the crowd — repeating moral platitudes about law and order — she, a witch who toyed with corpses and souls, would by that logic deserve execution.
So… what was true justice?
Hel inhaled slowly, then answered in a calm, unwavering voice:
"I am justice.
That which aligns with my principles and my sense of morality — that is justice.
Of course," she added with a faint smirk, "my morals are… flexible.
If something others call immoral benefits me, then it is, in my eyes, perfectly moral.
Therefore — justice is what I deem just.
My justice."
As the final word left her lips, the falling scale trembled — then halted.
It quivered once, then began to rise again, inch by inch.
When it finally leveled out, Hel saw what stood on the opposite side.
There — kneeling upon the golden plate — was a pale, radiant figure that looked exactly like her.
The figure knelt devoutly, as if in prayer to some unseen power.
Then, the doppelgänger looked up and smiled faintly.
From her lips came a voice Hel knew all too well — soft, melodic, and chillingly familiar:
"Do remember to uphold your justice, won't you?
Otherwise…"