The Iceheart Saintess’s Demands

The air temperature plummeted as icy mist rolled across the ground. Frost, like a living entity, crawled and spread visibly across the forged black porcelain surface.

Daphne felt as though a century-old ice cellar had opened its gates right behind her. The overflowing frost-attributed magical energy was so dense that it materialized into swirling snow crystals.

Even without Vatitaya’s blessing, Gwynevere was a rare genius, one in a thousand. Regardless of how sparse the Blood Crystal Wind was, she could still efficiently absorb and utilize it.

For other spellcasters, this environment would be akin to “magical suffocation.” Yet, Gwynevere remained unaffected, using her magic as usual.

Seacrystal was essentially a variant of Bloodcrystal, mutated over long years in the ocean. In a setting where both the ceiling and the mirrored walls contained Seacrystal components, the Blood Crystal Wind would be exceptionally dense, and Gwynevere’s magic would be amplified and strengthened manifold.

What Daphne had just done was fundamentally no different from slapping a two-meter tall brute, turning to run, and then tripping over a pebble. The only difference was that one would end up getting beaten, while the other would end up…

[Module: Defeat Penalty Lv1]

[Current Opponent: Gwynevere – Female – Imperial Human]

[You have been defeated in battle against Gwynevere. Defeat Penalty triggered: All skills and items disabled. Please enjoy.]

‘Enjoy, my foot!’

Daphne refused to believe it.

Having raised Gwynevere for a full twelve years, Daphne knew the Iceheart Saintess’s personality and habits inside and out. She simply refused to believe Gwynevere would do anything lewd to a defeated captive.

“Not running anymore? Should I cut off one of your feet to prevent you from escaping again?” Gwynevere’s cold voice descended from above.

Well, it seemed there was an even worse outcome than “lewd things.” Daphne had almost forgotten that half-blood races had no human rights in this world.

The Saintess’s clear blue eyes seemed to be glazed with ice, and frost also crept onto her face.

Even so, Daphne could still feel Gwynevere’s rage burning fiercely.

She couldn’t explain why, but Daphne just knew.

During their twelve years together, Gwynevere had always shown little emotional fluctuation. Yet today, her emotions were exceptionally strong, which was truly strange.

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have insulted you.” She immediately discarded her dignity, turned around, and performed a perfect dogeza, pressing her smooth forehead heavily against the frost-covered ground. “I won’t run again. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you ask, anything at all.”

‘Honestly, can dignity be eaten?’

‘If not, then it should be discarded. Hesitating for even a second would be irresponsible with one’s own life.’

Daphne, however, was not truly surrendering. Even if Gwynevere had no immediate plans for her, a half-blood captured by the Blazing Sun Church would certainly face a terrible fate. She still needed to find another opportunity to escape.

The ‘Defeat Penalty’ had indeed sealed all her skills, but it hadn’t dispelled the summoned creatures she had already manifested. The translucent, ethereal blue Mage Hand still hovered in the corner, biding its time.

‘Heh heh, if only I could do that again—’

Just as Daphne’s mind was still plotting, a sharp ice shard shot forth with a casual flick of the Saintess’s sleeve. It swiftly and directly pinned the translucent, hand-shaped construct to the mirrored wall.

The Seacrystal mirror immediately fractured outwards from the point of impact. Snow crystals hissed and burst from the cracks, and frost instantly spread and enveloped the area.

The Mage Hand struggled twice before dissolving into a phantom, vanishing completely.

“Not running anymore?”

Gwynevere took a step forward.

Her slender heel struck the porcelain surface, yet it felt more like it was crushing Daphne’s heart. Tiny crystalline lotuses of frost bloomed beneath the Saintess’s feet, and a chilling breath accompanied her as she leaned slightly forward, blowing directly onto Daphne.

“You’ll do anything?”

Gwynevere’s icy gaze fell upon the trembling Daphne. In the half-blood girl’s beautiful rose-red eyes, only terror remained, and Gwynevere saw her own imposing, slender reflection within them.

A strange sense of satisfaction.

The Saintess did not understand the source of this satisfaction. She merely felt a pleasant lightness, like the gentle babbling of a stream as ice and snow melted in early spring.

She unconsciously desired to extract more from this half-blood girl, who now had no means of escape.

“W-what do you want me to do?” Daphne tried to retreat, but her legs refused to obey, and her slender arms, braced against the ground, also trembled uncontrollably.

Now, she was truly at her wit’s end. Even her last hidden trick had been ruthlessly exposed by Gwynevere, leaving her with no choice but to obediently comply for now and seek another way out later.

‘Right, that settles it. I’ll unconditionally obey Gwynevere’s demands for now, then figure out another way to escape depending on the situation.’

“Stand up, and take off your skirt,” Gwynevere said coldly.

“W-what? Take off my skirt!?” Daphne thought she had misheard.

“I never repeat myself.” The Saintess tapped the Seacrystal at the top of her staff onto the black porcelain ground between herself and Daphne, and ferocious ice spikes immediately burst forth.

“Eek—!” Daphne flinched in alarm. ‘After all, if that casual tap had landed on her, it would have been an instant kill.’

“I-I understand…”

Under duress, the half-blood girl could only tremblingly push herself up. Even this simple action proved incredibly difficult for her, and she couldn’t help but brush against her sensitive legs and waist, letting out soft, delicate moans.

The process of taking off her dress was even clumsier. The fumbling and tugging not only snapped a strap but also painfully constricted her.

‘After all, she had been male in her previous two lives, never having worn a skirt, and thus had no experience whatsoever.’

Gwynevere’s eyes, however, were brimming with satisfaction. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy watching the half-blood girl shyly and awkwardly shed her dress.

‘This was all wrong.’

‘The Gwynevere Daphne knew was not this kind of person.’

‘Ordinarily, she would have frozen the captive’s limbs and ordered the Templar Knights and attendants to carry them away. She would never humiliate or toy with an enemy who had already surrendered.’

‘Was it the influence of the R18 MOD? Or was some other factor at play?’

The wet, translucent silk-gauze dress, having lost a strap, was now completely unwearable. It slipped from the shy girl’s hands, pooling around her small, fair, and delicate feet, which were faintly flushed red from the cold porcelain.

Daphne’s face was crimson. She awkwardly tried to cover her body with her arms, her gaze darting away as she dared not meet the eyes of the Saintess, whom she herself had raised.

With the dress now gone, the girl’s skin shone with a luminous glow. She stood perfectly upright, like a piece of warm, white jade, her lines soft and her figure perfectly proportioned, further enhanced by her long, dark red hair cascading like a veil. This sight made any observer involuntarily swallow, desiring a taste.

“Remove your hands. If you cover yourself again, I’ll cut them off.” Gwynevere remained unsatisfied, threatening her in a cold voice once more.

“Ugh…”

‘This is too much…’

Daphne could not control her tear ducts. Crystalline tears blurred her rose-red eyes, eventually overflowing and rolling down her cheeks.

The half-blood girl tearfully gave up trying to cover herself, her slender arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. She felt her face burn crimson, and could only avert her gaze, not daring to look at Gwynevere.

The sound of a glove hitting the ground.

Then, a cold yet soft-boned hand suddenly reached for her chest, making Daphne’s delicate body tremble violently from the chill.

‘An eye for an eye!?’

‘How could this Saintess, born in the Empire, be even more vengeful than a High-Ridge Dwarf!?’