Three days later, Red Sand Pass.
High cliffs soared on both sides, the wind howling like a sobbing moan as it swept through the gap.
Xue Yin crouched atop a crag, her gaze locked onto the figure in the center of the convoy — Ailia.
Even as a prisoner, she still wore the formal robes of a church high priestess: a high-waisted skirt tailored from snow-white moon-glow linen, with a standing collar that revealed a sliver of her slender neckline.
Tightened around her throat was a dark silver Silence Ring.
Her light, flaxen-blonde hair, which should have been neatly bound in a silver silk net, now hung in disarray.
A few damp strands clung to her sweat-stained cheeks, yet it only served to make her face appear as pure and delicate as porcelain under the moonlight.
The crystal cross hanging from her chest was dim and lusterless, as if its divine grace had been doused alongside her senses by the Tranquility Soup.
Most heart-wrenching was her posture — her spine was ramrod straight.
Though her steps were unsteady, she did not slouch; though her eyes were vacant, she did not lower them.
It was as if, even though she had been stripped of her voice, forced to drink potions, and crowned as a sinner, she remained the sister who believed that “God loves the world.”
Jin narrowed his eyes at the convoy, his gaze pausing for a moment on the waist of one of the Covenanted Monks — something there glinted with an unnatural, cold light under the sun.
He whispered, “Master, they are walking too steadily. This doesn’t look like an escort; it looks like they’re waiting for someone.”
Xue Yin did not answer.
She only saw Ailia’s haggard and wretched state.
Rage flowed like an undercurrent beneath ice — silent, yet enough to shatter the dam of her reason.
“Do it,” she said, her voice a fraction faster than usual.
Source crystal dust was scattered into the air.
“Burst.”
A faint tremor exploded, and sand filled the air.
The two Covenanted Monks of the escort team did not panic.
One monk gave a cold laugh and flicked his sleeve.
“We have been waiting for you for a long time, heretics.”
He suddenly activated the black ring at his waist — the Suppression Ring hummed as it expanded.
The air abruptly stagnated, and the magic at Xue Yin’s fingertips felt as if it had been frozen.
Her guidance of the elements began to grow sluggish.
the Left Deacon drew his blade, the silver edge glinting coldly in the sunlight.
“Another one seeking death? Do you have any idea how many disobedient magical girls the Sin Purge Court has disposed of?”
The Right Deacon sneered, holy light coalescing in his palm.
“The magical girl who tried to run away last month was still screaming for ‘Mama’ right before she died. You lot are far too confident.”
The deacon shouted, “Kneel! The Sin Purge Court will grant you a dignified end.”
Before he could finish, Jin leaped from the cliff!
He didn’t land directly.
Instead, he kicked off the rock wall, launching himself like an arrow from a bow.
Simultaneously, vines surged violently, coordinating with Jin’s movements.
The Left Deacon sneered and swung his blade, but his pupils shrank the moment the edge touched the vines — the plants twisted like living things, snaking around the blade to coil tightly around his ankles.
Before he could react, he was yanked to the ground.
“You’re courting death!”
The Right Deacon turned and swept his blade in a vicious arc, aimed straight for the back of Jin’s neck.
A flash of holy light erupted around him, and a chain of sacred light shot out from the ground, seeking to bind Jin’s legs!
Jin didn’t look back, yet it was as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
He rolled low to the ground, narrowly avoiding the blade.
At the same time, he tucked his legs in mid-air; the holy chain grazed the soles of his boots and slammed into the cliffside, blasting a spray of stone fragments.
The blade whistled past his ear, severing a few strands of black hair before stabbing into the sand.
The Right Deacon gave a cold smirk and swung again with a backhand strike.
Simultaneously, the holy chain surged a second time, coiling toward Jin’s waist like a living serpent!
This time, Jin couldn’t dodge completely.
The tip of the blade slashed across his forearm.
Blood splattered onto the sand, the wound deep enough to see bone.
He didn’t even flinch.
Using the spray of blood to obscure the enemy’s vision, his movements actually accelerated.
The moment the chain wrapped around his waist, he exerted a burst of strength to snap it.
His clothes tore, but he broke free.
He glanced down at the mangled wound on his arm, his gaze suddenly turning sharp.
He abandoned his previous steady, calculated style and changed his approach.
His figure flickered, and using the cover of the swirling dust, he vanished like a ghost.
The Right Deacon gripped his sword and scanned the area, holy chains circling him, but he saw nothing but yellow sand.
“Why hide? Are you afraid?”
Before the words fully left his mouth, Jin lunged from the shadows behind him, his dagger thrusting straight for the side of the deacon’s neck —
The Right Deacon spun around to block, but a sharp *shink* filled the air — a wind blade shot from Xue Yin’s fingertips, striking the deacon’s wrist!
The silver blade flew from his hand, clattering loudly as it hit the ground.
Xue Yin did not linger on the fight, instead rushing toward Ailia.
A faint smirk played on Jin’s lips as he pressed his dagger forward, aiming for the throat.
The Right Deacon was a member of the Sin Purge Court, after all.
In the face of death, he forced his body to twist, taking the blade in his left shoulder.
The dagger sank into his shoulder blade, but he used the momentum to throw a heavy punch at Jin’s face.
Simultaneously, holy light flared again — a holy shockwave erupted from his body, slamming directly into Jin’s chest!
Jin tilted his head to avoid the punch and drove his knee into the man’s abdomen, but he was knocked back three steps by the shockwave.
He let out a muffled groan, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, but he did not fall.
The Left Deacon had just managed to pull himself halfway out of the vines.
Seeing his comrade injured, he roared and swung his blade at Jin’s back.
At the same time, Xue Yin condensed a strand of magic as thin as a hair and probed the lock on Ailia’s neck.
Using the “elemental affinity” innate to High Elves, she triggered a soft *click*.
The ring popped open, and Ailia gasped for air.
Her vacant eyes gradually began to focus, as if a fog was being blown away by the wind, revealing the unextinguished embers beneath.
Ailia saw the holy emblem on the deacon’s neck — the mark of the False Vow from the White Cliff Monastery.
Ailia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
When she opened them again, the fire in her eyes had ignited completely.
Her voice rang out as clear as a bell, each word striking like a hammer:
“In the name of the First Saintess — I revoke your false oaths!”
This was the Oath-Breaking Prayer that only the high priestesses of the southern Moon-glow Fortress could learn.
It was designed specifically to shatter the private holy seals granted by the Church.
The Left Deacon’s silver blade fell from his hand as he collapsed to his knees, convulsing.
“You… how do you know that verse?!”
“Because I was the one who presided over your emblem ceremonies.”
Ailia stood tall, her white clothes stained with dust, her eyes burning like torches.
“And you lot couldn’t even memorize the prayer correctly.”
The Right Deacon was horrified.
The holy light in his staff surged, transforming into three arrows of light that shot toward Ailia!
Jin appeared behind him and slashed through his belt — the Suppression Ring hit the ground.
Jin slammed his foot down hard.
Accompanied by the grating sound of twisting metal, the cold black ring shattered into countless fragments under his boot.
In the midst of that crisp cracking sound, the restriction was lifted.
The magic immediately came rushing back to Xue Yin!
She raised one hand, and a violent gale rose, carrying sand and dust as it slammed into their enemies.
Both men were already heavily injured; they couldn’t withstand the blow and collapsed with muffled groans.
Ailia stumbled forward and snatched the prayer staff from the deacon’s robes.
It was a scepter forged from the charred bone ash of magical girl “scraps.”
It felt slightly warm to the touch.
She raised it high and brought it down hard against their holy seals.
The seals let out a piercing shriek, as if mourning the end of a lie.
“This one is for Lina.”
“This one is for all the children you turned into holy artifacts.”
“When you are dead, tell the Bishop — Ailia, the High Priestess of Moon-glow Fortress, still remembers the true prayers. And it is you lot who betrayed your original faith.”
The staff snapped, blood sprayed, and the deacon’s pupils finally glazed over.
Ailia still held the broken half of the staff, her arm frozen in mid-air.
It was as if all her strength had been drained.
She looked down at her blood-stained hands, then at the lifeless corpses on the ground, and suddenly, her entire body began to tremble.
Subconsciously, she tried to make the sign of the cross in prayer, but as her hand reached her chest, it froze.
It was as if she had finally finished something she had always wanted — but feared — to do.
But now that it was done, her heart felt hollow, and even the object of her prayers had vanished.
The smoke had not yet cleared, and the wind blew the scent of blood and sand against their faces.
Xue Yin didn’t bother to fix her messy silver hair.
She took several quick strides to reach Jin.
He was trying to use a dust-covered strip of cloth to wrap the deep wound on his left arm.
The cloth was soaked through with blood, making it too slippery to tie.
He tried twice, his fingers trembling slightly, but he gritted his teeth and didn’t make a sound.
Where his clothes were torn at his chest, a large, hideous purple bruise was visible, each breath aggravating his injuries.
“Who told you to handle it yourself?” Xue Yin’s voice was somewhat hoarse, carrying a trace of uncharacteristic urgency.
She reached out and gripped his blood-stained wrist.
Her movement wasn’t rough, but it carried an undeniable force.
Jin stiffened, instinctively trying to pull his hand back.
“Master, it’s just a small injury. I can…”
“Don’t move.”
Xue Yin gave a soft command, abruptly pulling away the filthy cloth in his hand.
Without hesitation, her palm covered the jagged wound.
Her touch felt burning hot.
Jin hissed as he sucked in a breath of cold air, but he didn’t pull away.
He watched as the hands that usually only cast cold, ruthless spells pressed firmly against his mangled flesh.
Her fingertips were cool, carrying a faint scent of herbs.
“Bear with it,” she said.
A pinkish-gold light spilled from her palm, mixed with bits of silver stardust, slowly seeping into the broken flesh.
The pain began to recede, replaced by a tingling itch.
Jin stared at the light, his throat tightening.
In his entire life, no one had ever cared about one of his ‘insignificant injuries.’
“Master…” Jin’s throat felt tight, his voice incredibly raspy.
“It’s enough. You’re wasting your mana.”
As the last thread of silver light vanished into his skin, the wound healed completely, leaving only a faint pink scar.
Xue Yin withdrew her hand and lightly brushed away the bloodstains on her fingertips.
She looked up at Jin.
Those eyes, usually like cold stars, no longer held their deliberate distance.
There was only a calm, quiet earnestness.
“You aren’t allowed to push yourself like that next time,” she said plainly, but every word was clear.
“Since you are my apprentice, I won’t allow you to throw your life away so carelessly.”
Jin was stunned.
He looked down at his perfectly healed arm.
His fingertips curled slightly, as if he wanted to touch the hand that had just healed him, but he stopped himself mid-air, terrified that his blood and filth would tarnish her purity.
Ultimately, he simply lowered his head, pressed that hand tightly against his chest, and gave Xue Yin a solemn bow.
The posture was humble, yet weighted with a deep sense of devotion.
“Yes, Master,” he said softly, his voice echoing with unshakable resolve.
“As long as you are here, I will never fall.”
Looking at his overly formal and respectful demeanor, Xue Yin gave a helpless, soft sigh.
She reached out, but instead of helping him up, she let her hand rest lightly on his messy black hair, ruffling his lowered head.
The warmth of her palm seeped through his hair, offering an undeniable sense of comfort.
“Enough with the formalities.”
Her voice softened, sounding caught between a laugh and a sigh.
“There is no need for such rigid etiquette between us. You are my apprentice and my companion, not my servant.”
Jin’s body stiffened for a moment before he slowly relaxed under her gentle touch.
He gradually raised his head.
In his eyes, which usually hid a dark gloom, Xue Yin’s reflection shone with startling clarity.
“I understand,” he replied in a low voice, a very faint smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“As you wish, Master.”
After a long silence, Ailia’s muffled voice drifted over.
“I thought that if I killed them, I would feel better.”
“But I can’t feel anything.”
Ailia’s voice was thick with tears, though she fought to suppress them.
“‘God loves the world.’ That was on the first page of the scriptures. I believed it. I believed it for twenty years. But the result was…”
“It is a good thing for lies to shatter early,” Xue Yin said suddenly.
Ailia’s shoulders froze.
She slowly looked up, her eyes incredibly red, staring blankly at Xue Yin.
Xue Yin looked toward the distant horizon, her voice as light as the wind.
“That fire never truly vanished. It burned away the false idols so that the light could shine directly into your soul. From now on, you don’t need to kneel to any god. The fire in your heart… that is the truth.”
Ailia was dazed.
Tears still welled in her eyes, but her gaze gradually cleared, like a patch of sunlight breaking through dark clouds.
Jin walked over and said in a low voice, “Master, we should go. We shouldn’t linger here too long.”
Xue Yin nodded and stood up.
She didn’t say anything else, simply reaching her hand out toward Ailia.
That hand was stained with the dust of the battlefield, but the palm seemed to glow with the remnants of the moonlight.
It wasn’t the cold light that looked down on the world from an altar; it was a real, tangible warmth capable of lifting a fallen soul.
Ailia stared at that hand for a long time.
She gripped it tightly, using the support to stand.
Her spine straightened, and she did not lower her head again.