The Saintess’s Ultimatum and the Pope’s Predicament

Gwynevere stood with her staff aimed directly at Daphne.

Icy-blue runes flickered into existence and dissolved in the air, a destructive frost-attributed magic poised to unleash its power.

****

In the past, Daphne would never have imagined such a day.

Her Saintess had always been obedient to her instructions and requests, acting efficiently and without complaint.

This had given Daphne a false impression.

It was as if she hadn’t rescued an orphaned girl, but rather an automaton that, once taught, required no further concern.

Gwynevere could be dispatched anywhere, and she would invariably return with favorable results.

No one would ever believe that such a person could become an adversary to the Pope.

Yet, if the Pope were no longer the Pope, but instead transformed into a frail, half-blood girl with weak limbs and feeble legs…

Daphne couldn’t fathom a reason for Gwynevere to spare her.

‘Should I confess here that I am, in fact, Bertram?’

‘Absolutely not!’

Having just so embarrassingly doused Gwynevere with water, revealing her identity as the Pope now would utterly shatter the venerable image she had meticulously cultivated in the religious domain for two decades.

It would be ruined in an instant.

The mission of His Holiness Pope Bertram was far from complete.

She still needed to leverage the Pope’s identity to accomplish a monumental task; it was hardly the time for Daphne to give up and resign herself to fate.

‘I must find an opportunity to escape Gwynevere’s grasp, then figure out how to return to my original body.’

Her mind, now sharply awake from the shock, raced to make a decision.

However, the body that had only recently blossomed so spectacularly now felt utterly devoid of strength.

The moment she attempted to scramble to her feet, her foot slipped, sending her tumbling back into the puddle.

“Guh-woo~♡…”

It wasn’t pain she felt, but rather a sensation far more terrifying.

More than pure agony, Daphne dreaded this unfamiliar yet intensely stimulating feeling she had recently come to experience.

If this continued, she would surely become a mindless idiot, knowing nothing but ‘that’.

Such a fate would be truly pathetic.

‘No!’

‘I must pull myself together!’

Daphne struggled to her feet, bracing herself against the mirrored wall.

Clear curtains of water streamed from every part of her body, as if she had just emerged from a bath.

A cloyingly sweet fragrance wafted and spread throughout the surroundings.

[Module: Defeat Penalty Lv1]

[The victor always holds the right to dispose of the vanquished; the strong naturally have the right to severely humiliate the weak.]

[If defeated in battle, all skills and items will be forcibly disabled. The victorious party will develop an intense interest in you and forcibly engage in an indescribable act until satisfied.]

[Current Opponent: Gwynevere – Female – Imperial Human]

‘Ah?! What kind of description is this, sounding like forced brainwashing?’

‘Gwynevere isn’t that kind of person!’

‘Give me back my pure, ascetic Iceheart Saintess!’

Daphne had barely stood and steadied herself when a cerulean screen automatically unfolded in her vision, displaying this text.

After reading it, she nearly choked with rage.

But that wasn’t all; the content that refreshed immediately afterward caused her blood pressure to soar even higher.

[Module: Terrifying Harassment Lv1]

[Your terrifying charm has captured the hearts of all girls in this world. Even simply walking down the street, you will be tackled by beautiful, unfamiliar girls. How fortunate!]

[A world-class spell has been released across the entire Nocathea Continent. All female beings will develop an abnormally strong affection for you.]

[Effect Active – Nocathea Continent]

The “world-class” in “world-class spell” referred to its scope of effect, targeting the entire world.

This was likely what had spread outwards the moment the orb connected with the spiked ring.

At that time, Daphne had vaguely sensed that it was a world-class spell.

‘So that’s how it is.’

The so-called R18 MOD, when manifested in this game world, took the form of a world-class spell capable of influencing the minds of all creatures.

Everyone’s thoughts had been twisted, to varying degrees.

But—

Daphne tilted her head slightly, glancing askance at Gwynevere, who was currently holding her staff threateningly.

She noticed the necklace adorning Gwynevere’s neck: the smooth gem had lost its original sea-blue luster, shallow cracks had appeared on its surface, and the fairy deep within had withered, devoid of life.

That was the legendary accessory, the ‘Guardian of the Deep Sea Fairy,’ which Daphne had personally given Gwynevere before entering the ruins.

Its effect was to resist a single spell, regardless of its scale or power.

Now, with the gem shattered and the fairy having lost its magic, it indicated that it had recently repelled a spell.

However, this did not necessarily mean Gwynevere had avoided the MOD’s influence.

The necklace could have shattered while resisting another spell, preventing Daphne from making a definitive judgment based on this alone.

‘But it doesn’t matter anymore.’

‘No matter what, I must escape Gwynevere’s clutches today.’

Since these R18 MODs were so intent on turning her into a mere plaything, Daphne absolutely refused to submit to fate.

‘Saving the world, making up for regrets—all of it can go to hell!’

‘She could barely preserve her own integrity; who cared if floods engulfed the world later?’

With this shift in mindset, Daphne surprisingly felt a considerable weight lift from her shoulders.

It was as if she had shed a heavy burden.

“If you fear injury, you can surrender now,” Gwynevere declared, seemingly noticing the change in the half-blood girl’s demeanor before her.

“I have many questions for you, but if you refuse—” She delivered her ultimatum, her brow lightly furrowed.

Her steel staff was now covered in frost, and icy air continuously poured forth from the sea crystal.

The runes vibrated violently, clearly beyond containment.

Of course, Daphne could not surrender to Gwynevere.

After all, surrendering would likely be deemed a defeat by the MOD, triggering the Defeat Penalty.

It would appear as though she were willingly offering her chastity to the Saintess she had personally raised.

Defeating Gwynevere head-on was even more impossible.

As her mentor, Daphne knew Gwynevere’s strength intimately.

As a Prayer Priest of at least Level 30, the Saintess’s combat power was not something a Level 0 character like Daphne, with no profession or faith, could ever hope to contend with.

A one-hit kill was a conservative estimate; she might even end up owing two or three health bars.

Moreover, with the blessings and protection of the Goddess Vatitaya, Gwynevere could simultaneously tread the ‘Blazing Flame’ and ‘Radiance’ paths within the ‘Scorching Sun Lineage.’

She began at Sequence 7, far surpassing other ordinary followers of the Scorching Sun sect.

Daphne could only hope to create an opportunity for escape.

“No answer implies a denial,” Gwynevere’s icy voice echoed through the corridor.

Sub-zero white mist billowed down from the staff’s tip, even laying a thin layer of ice crystals across the puddles on the ground.

“I won’t kill you, but I certainly won’t make it easy for you… Pay the price for your insolence, you little pervert!”

‘Wait, “little pervert” again?!’

‘It’s not like this body’s sensitivity is my choice!’

‘I’m the victim here, aren’t I?’

It wasn’t until her consciousness fully cleared that Daphne realized what Gwynevere had called her.

Her temper flared instantly.

‘As Gwynevere’s godparent, how could she endure such an insult?’

‘She certainly didn’t recall teaching such a disrespectful term; that girl absolutely needed to learn a lesson!’

The runes surrounding the sea crystal burst forth with dazzling brilliance before rapidly dissolving into the air.

The temperature plummeted.

The moment a spell was cast was when a caster was most vulnerable.

Focusing on manipulating rune arrangements would leave them open to attack.

‘Perfect timing!’

Daphne’s gaze darted to Gwynevere’s heels.

The Saintess’s delicate feet, encased in white stockings, were currently crossed, one in front of the other, within platinum high heels.

The nearly 10-centimeter-tall slender heels stood proudly, accentuating the Saintess’s graceful figure.

At this crucial moment, she employed the only innate spell she could utilize.

‘Mage Hand.’