"Huff… huff… huff…"
Hel jerked upright from her bed like a drowning person breaking the surface for air. The cold night air rushed into her lungs, stinging painfully, while her heart — strengthened by battle-qi — pounded against her ribs like a heavy hammer.
She glanced at the window. The sky outside was still pitch-black.
"Damn it… why are the visions for these two attributes so different? Everyone else gets proper Western-fantasy magic scenes, and mine turns into straight-up Lovecraft horror?Seriously?"
Hel sighed helplessly, then turned toward Niv, who lay beside her, silver eyes filled with concern.
"Don't worry," Hel said softly. "It's nothing — just a necessary trial for inheriting holy power."
"Niv understands."
Niv nodded quietly, asking nothing more.
Moments later, the door creaked open. The elven Niv — this time wearing an apron — stepped in, carrying a steaming mug of hot cocoa.
"Master, please drink this to calm your nerves."
"Thanks."
Hel accepted the cup and took a slow sip. The rich aroma of chocolate and gentle sweetness helped wash away the dread that lingered from her nightmare.
By the time she finished, her heartbeat and breathing had steadied. Focusing inward, she suddenly noticed something unexpected — the elemental crystal in her stomach had shrunk, and her holy battle-qi had risen to Tier 3.
"Already Tier 3? Overnight? That's faster than when I trained death mana! Don't tell me I'm some prodigy for holy battle-qi?"
Hel blinked in surprise, but Niv quickly offered a practical answer.
"Master's body is already as strong as a Tier 4 knight. Absorbing holy qi poses no bottleneck now. Once you reach Tier 4, your progress will slow again."
"Ah, that makes sense."
Hel tested her inner energy flow again and found Niv's reasoning sound.
"So maybe cultivating another kind of battle-qi isn't a bad thing after all. It might even help my magic grow."
She smiled faintly, set down the cup, and walked to the window.
Outside, the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. Stretching lazily, she murmured:
"Morning already… Time to pay the Disease Witch a visit."
At the heart of the Aira Royal Court — inside the innermost sanctum of the Supreme Church's palace complex.
To call this place a "palace" was misleading — it was more like a prison. Thirty-meter walls surrounded it, sealing everything within as if caging a monster.
And indeed, that wasn't far from the truth.
This was the residence of Pestis, the Witch of Disease — wielder of the Authority of Disease, half the Authority of Poison, and a fragment of the Authority of Plague. A living catastrophe; her very presence was a biological weapon.
Around her swirled a constant haze — a lethal fusion of disease and toxin. Any creature foolish enough to approach would melt into pus within moments.
If she ever relaxed her restraint and let the poison flow freely, the entire Aira Royal Court would become a city of the dead in hours.
As the first rays of sunlight brushed the palace roof, the emerald mist surrounding the building trembled — then rapidly receded inward.
Pestis sat up slowly from her cold, narrow bed, running her fingers through her messy hair. Sensing the two types of magic within her — both of the same lineage — she found they still refused to merge.
She sighed.
"Still not successful…? And the feedback from the Path to Godhood is fading. Did someone make a move? Magic… Fate… or Change? Fate never interferes with Fate. Change is busy finding her successor. So… it must be Magic. Unless those old fossils from the previous age are stirring again…"
Hugging her knees, she rested her chin on them, her face blank as she muttered:
"Still… if I don't get stronger… I'll die."
Then suddenly, her expression twisted — a cruel grin split her face, and a sharp, manic female voice shrieked from her lips:
"Death? Hahaha! Death! Little Pestis, are you actually afraid of dying? How pathetic! Hahahaha—"
Her features smoothed again, voice calm and flat.
"Vinetis… you should rest."
But faint green smoke began to seep from the bandages around her body — proof of the turmoil beneath that calm.
Her face distorted again, voice dripping venom:
"Rest? How can I rest? You promised me your body, remember? Why go back on your word, you cowardly liar? Oh, I see — you tricked me from the start, didn't you? Acting all meek and sweet until the end, then stabbing me in the back! You said you'd share your body only to steal my Authority — my dear sister, Pestis!"
Once again, Pestis's tone turned cold and distant.
"I'm sorry, Vinetis. I… just wanted to live."
Her expression went blank, but soon twisted again as a torrent of vicious curses poured from her lips, shrill and relentless.
No one knew how much time passed. When Vinetis finally exhausted her rage, Pestis's face relaxed once more into serenity.
She rubbed her sore cheeks, slowly rose from bed, and began unwrapping her bandages — then just as carefully wound them back again.
The cloth, woven from rare antimony-infused metal fibers, was suffocating and uncomfortable, but it was the only material that could resist her own toxins without corroding.
After tying the final strip, Pestis walked toward the grand doors of her hall. By the time her hand touched the handle, her expression had already reset — cold, remote, untouchable.
Once more, she stood as the aloof, distant Witch of Disease.