Chapter 154 - 152: The Poor Believer, Played with in the Palm of the Saintess’s Hand

Chapter 154: Chapter 152: The Poor Believer, Played with in the Palm of the Saintess’s Hand

"If you require it, My Lady Saintess, with but a single command, we shall immediately gouge out this filthy Blood Eye for you!"

Then, to prove his words were not empty, and more so to display his "spoils of war" and absolute obedience to the Saintess, Midia waved his hand sharply and barked an order to those behind him.

"Bring him up! A tribute for the Saintess!"

Two tall figures, wrapped in clean white bandages and wearing blank, featureless white masks, silently parted the crowd of cultists. They dragged a body, barely recognizable as human, forward and threw it heavily onto the snow before the steps at Rosalind’s feet.

It was Damien.

The leader of the Blood Eye Association stationed in Birch Town was in a pathetic state.

His signature bald head was caked with filth, blood, and slush. His muscular body was limp like a sack of rags. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose, staining the snow a jarring dark red. A large section of his chest plate was caved in, a clear sign of multiple broken ribs.

He wheezed with difficulty, each breath accompanied by a pained sob. His unfocused eyes, clouded by agony and the extreme cold, could not focus. He could only vaguely make out the cold figure on the steps exuding a deadly chill, and the frigid gazes from beneath the dark blue robes around him—gazes that looked upon him as if he were livestock awaiting slaughter.

Midia pointed at Damien on the ground, his tone reverent yet clearly seeking praise.

"Behold, My Lady Saintess! This man is the local leader of the Blood Eye Association, Damien!"

"He is the one responsible for the plan to seize the town, and he attempted to obstruct us from welcoming Your holy presence!"

"Now his life, his death, his very soul are yours to command! Whether you choose to entomb him in ice for ten thousand years or refine him into a Spiritual Puppet, it is all for you to decree!"

Following Midia’s words, the fanatical gazes of all the Eternal Frost Cultists focused on Rosalind.

The air grew still once more, leaving only Damien’s harsh, pained gasps and the HISS of the Frost White Young Dragon breathing out shards of ice.

Upon the steps, Rosalind’s silver eyes were downcast, like the moon reflected on a frozen lake. They mirrored the squirming, filthy bundle of flesh and blood on the snow, betraying no hint of pleasure or anger.

Then, under the gazes filled with ecstatic joy, reverence, and expectation, she finally moved.

She didn’t spare Midia another glance, nor did she issue any commands to her "loyal servants." She simply gathered the hem of her grey dress, which seemed untouched by dust, and descended the cold stone steps—slowly, one step at a time.

The soles of her boots made a soft, clear CRUNCH on the packed snow.

The cold and exquisitely beautiful figure drew closer and closer to the despairing Damien, who lay prostrate on the ground.

When she finally stood before Damien, Midia, as if to show his respect, retreated several steps, leaving only two Spiritual Puppets to restrain Damien.

Rosalind looked down at the man twitching in agony at her feet, yet it was as if she were looking right through him.

Her thoughts turned to the heart-wrenching fear Reya had described when she spoke of the attack, a fear that had felt like a knife twisting in her own heart.

"Damien."

She spoke, her voice like the clinking of icicles—crisp and cold, piercing through the lingering chill of the blizzard and falling upon the ears of everyone present.

"You hurt the person most important to me."

Her statement was simple and direct, yet it made Damien’s pupils shrink in a deeper layer of terror.

He struggled, wanting to beg for mercy, to make excuses, but under the gaze of those silver eyes that seemed to freeze everything, all his thoughts turned to ice, leaving only a boundless chill.

Rosalind lowered her head slightly. Her long, silver eyelashes cast a small shadow beneath her eyelids, adding a touch of detached sanctity to her appearance.

"So."

She parted her lips slightly, exhaling a breath.

Pure Dragon Breath, mingled with the Power of frost, condensed and took shape at her long, slender, pale fingertips.

Frost flowers danced and a cold light swirled as a translucent Ice Crystal Longsword silently formed in her hand.

"I will kill you."

The instant the words left her lips, the Ice Sword transformed into a streak of cold light nearly too fast for the naked eye to follow, shooting from Rosalind’s hand and flashing past.

A faint slicing sound was heard.

Damien’s garbled cry froze deep in his throat. His unfocused pupils dilated to their absolute limit, then lost all light.

A paper-thin line of blood appeared on his thick neck, spreading from the wound before it was instantly frozen by Ice Crystals, forming a tragically beautiful line of blood-ice.

His muscular frame twitched once, then went completely limp.

On the snow, only a corpse remained, its face twisted and stiff, rapidly being covered by a thin layer of frost.

Clean. Efficient. As cold and detached as the execution of a divine oracle.

A high-ranking officer of the Blood Eye Association had met his end, just like that.

The entire process had no furious roars, no thrill of vengeance—only a calm, indifferent, almost divine final judgment upon one who had dared to touch what was forbidden.

But it was precisely this tranquility that was more terrifying than any furious rage.

Inside the Golden Maple Leaf Trading House, the guards who had witnessed everything through cracks in the door and peepholes felt a chill run up their spines.

The Miss Rosalind they knew—calm, composed, and an orderly manager of the trading house—was now displaying a completely alien side: a cruel Divinity that regarded Life with the same indifference as the ice and snow of the Northern Territory.

Midia and the other Eternal Frost Cultists, however, had the exact opposite reaction.

After a brief moment of shock, an even more fanatical flush spread across their faces!

The Saintess had executed the enemy with her own hands! And in such a holy and ruthless manner!

This was the perfect embodiment of the Divinity of the Eternal Frost Dragon God, Candela, whom they worshipped—the Divinity that represented the absolute silence and end of all things!

More than any words, this proved the identity of the person before them!

"A sacred judgment! This is our Lord’s sacred judgment!"

One cultist, trembling with excitement, whispered in a low voice.

Midia was so moved he nearly prostrated himself on the ground again.

Suppressing his inner ecstasy, he took a step forward.

"My Lady Saintess, your loyal servant, Midia, offers you his highest respects!"

"For this filthy man to be Purified by you is his greatest ’honor’!"

Rosalind looked at him, her cherry-pink lips, so pale they were almost colorless, parting slightly.

"Thank you for bringing him before me. You did well."

Receiving the Saintess’s thanks and approval, Midia couldn’t help but sway slightly. He then adopted an even more humble posture than before, his head nearly touching his chest.

"To serve the Saintess is our duty as servants! We are not worthy of your thanks!"

He carefully lifted his eyelids, peeking at Rosalind’s profile, which remained as serene as ever.

Seeing that she had no intention of speaking further, his mind raced as he astutely tried to divine his superior’s intentions.

’Since the Saintess personally executed the Blood Eye Association officer, does that mean she no longer has any attachments to the mortal world?’

’Is it... time to extend that sacred invitation once more?’

"My Lady Saintess."

Midia’s voice was tinged with cautious probing and infinite hope.

"The filth here has been cleansed, but the mortal world is clamorous and filled with impurities. It is truly a blasphemy to your noble status."

"I implore you to grace us with your presence and return with us to our Lord’s Saint Sanctuary. There, all is silent, with only eternal Ice Crystals and tranquility. That is the only place worthy of your status and Power!"

"We shall give our all to serve you until the end of eternity!"

His words were filled with expectation and desire, as if he could already see the future where, under the Saintess’s leadership, he would ascend to the supreme, eternal frozen lands that existed in the hearts of all Eternal Frost Cultists.

The hearts of the other cultists were in their throats as they waited, incredibly tense yet full of anticipation, for the Saintess’s consent.

Even the Frost White Young Dragon seemed to sense the atmosphere. It raised its lowered head slightly, its ice-blue, vertical pupils fixed on Rosalind.

The wind and snow seemed to soften at this moment, as if holding their breath, waiting for her answer.

Rosalind slowly turned. Her silver eyes swept over Midia’s face, which was distorted with hope, then over the prostrate, deep-blue figures with their fanatical gazes. Finally, her gaze drifted toward the sky, seeming to pierce through the wind and snow toward a distant place—the direction of the man who had accepted her Soul Contract, the one who had given her Power and salvation.

Then, she shook her head.

"I’m sorry, I can’t go with you."