Daphne’s Mission and Edith’s Anxieties

Daphne pushed open the door to the tunnel corridor, just in time to see Hedy passing by with a bucket and mop.

“Hedy.” Daphne called out to her.

“Miss Daphne, is there something you need?” Hedy put down her things and ran back to Daphne, smiling brightly.

“Have you seen Grover?”

“Oh, Lord Grover is in the strategy room, the slightly larger chamber just over there. You can find him there.” Hedy pointed to her right.

“Thank you. You may continue with your work.” Daphne nodded.

“Yes, if you need anything else, please call for me anytime.” The black-haired girl ran off again.

Cheerful for a spirit, this little maid was quite the contrast to the somber tone of Klogotia.

Daphne muttered a brief complaint to herself and then turned towards the strategy room.

Grover was indeed in the chamber, facing a map of the Nors Region. One hand toyed with a crystal skull, the other used a quill to make marks on the map.

“I thought those beastmen were just ignorant brutes, but they’ve done a surprisingly good job… This way, the Saint Mary religious realm will…”

He muttered to himself.

The spirit fire in his eye sockets flickered as the “Dead Falcon’s Beak” clearly brewed some sinister plan.

Daphne feigned disinterest but pricked up her ears to listen.

“I’m going out for a bit, but I’ll be back.” She approached the exit on the other side of the chamber.

“Noble Death Messenger.” Grover bowed slightly to Daphne, his medals clinking. “May I inquire about the details? You…”

His skull glowed with a dark gold light, and the blue flames seemed to glance over here.

“It’s none of your concern, lich.” Daphne frowned slightly. “Don’t let your useless curiosity disrupt the revenge plans of the Great Lord of the Ice Tombs.” After a pause, she added, “I can reveal a little, but make sure it doesn’t leak. This is the Great Lord’s expectation and trust in you, don’t let him down.”

Grover seemed taken aback for a moment, but his suspicious expression vanished. He immediately knelt down, his voice almost teary with gratitude.

“I swear by the past glory, Grover Crane, the Dead Falcon’s Beak, will not leak a word. Please let even the ignorant me glimpse the wisdom and foresight of the Great Lord Arsuga!” The lich banged his smooth, hard skull on the ground.

Daphne wanted to laugh but held it back.

“Your informant in Kor Town has a problem, but don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” She spoke calmly, then swept her cloak aside and left, leaving a trail of frost and ice shards.

Grover stared at Daphne’s disappearing figure, his thoughts swirling like a storm.

“My informant is a blood ancestor, and the messenger of Lord Arsuga is also a blood ancestor. Only blood ancestors can infiltrate the living!” He seemed to have discovered some ultimate truth, dancing with excitement. “No wonder a half-blood ancestor was appointed as the Death Messenger… Truly the foresight of the Great Lord of the Ice Tombs! Is this the wisdom of Lord Arsuga?”

Daphne, having left the tunnel, no longer heard the ancient lich’s ramblings.

She indeed had to go to Kor Town, but not directly.

The advantage of being a blood ancestor is the ability to completely imitate and impersonate a target, even inheriting their profession. If the right target is chosen, her actions in Kor Town would be twice as effective.

Although gaining faith granted new skills, spells, and traits, the spell “Painful Whip” requires mana to cast, and the trait “Dark Night Throttle” is a passive mana-saving skill. Without a profession or mana, they are currently useless.

Therefore, Daphne’s target should be a spellcaster, inheriting their appearance, identity, and profession, replacing them.

Although the inherited profession level would reset to 1, for Daphne, who had no profession, this was a significant leap.

She had already decided on her target.

****

The room was still dark as dawn approached, cast in a dim, sparse light.

Edith sat down and lit a candle, the weak flame dancing between the copper mirror and the girl, casting a luxurious glow on her golden curls, which rippled like oil in a gentle spring breeze.

Her deep blue eyes were sea-like, both profound and bright.

She gazed at her reflection, but her usually cheerful face was shadowed by a hint of sorrow.

A knock sounded at the door.

Edith started, pressing a hand to her chest, then hurriedly lifted her light blue dress, her small leather shoes tapping a quick rhythm as she rushed to the door.

Adjusting her expression, Edith rubbed her cheeks to maintain a soft smile before opening the door.

Standing outside was a girl of similar height, her shoulder-length platinum blond hair cascading like a waterfall, her blue eyes even clearer, like the sky.

But her expression was blank, devoid of any emotion.

She still wore the silver cross tiara, clearly having just returned from outside and not yet changed or rested—the tiara signified her identity as the current Saint of the Sunlight Church, the vice-commander of the Holy Knights, and Edith’s sister by adoption.

“Welcome back, sister.” Edith pushed down her anxiety and took Gwynevere’s arm. “Was it cold at the foot of the mountain? Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.” Gwynevere returned the grip on Edith’s hands, looking into Edith’s eyes for a moment. “We still haven’t found the Pope… We searched the ruins and the entire mountain range, but found no traces.” Edith felt a void in her heart, and her balance wavered, but Gwynevere steadied her with a firm grip on her hands.

“What are your plans for today?” Gwynevere asked softly.

Edith’s lips moved, her eyes flashing with disbelief before the emotion faded. “If Father still doesn’t return… I’ll continue helping to care for the wounded. The beastmen’s attacks are becoming more frequent, not just on the forest paths, but even on the plains roads. We’ve lost an entire logistics team.” Gwynevere’s eyelids drooped slightly.

“I’ll ask Mr. Arvis later. He’s fought these beasts before and should have a plan.” Edith bit her lip, wanting to say something but holding back. Finally, she embraced Gwynevere tightly. “It will be alright, sister. Father is strong, he won’t be hurt.” The Saint’s body was cold, her cloak still frosted, and her high heels were crusted with snow.

“I’m going to the town. Would you like to come with me, sister?” Edith asked.

Gwynevere tilted her head slightly, considering. “The knights are very tired and need to rest in the town for a day. I have no other plans today.” Edith’s face brightened, and she smiled again.

“Then it’s settled. Please wait while I freshen up a bit.” The golden-haired girl stepped back, tilting her head as she appraised Gwynevere’s figure, elegantly draped in the saintly gown. Her gentle smile held a hint of mischief.

“Sister, would you like to change into something more casual? This isn’t really work time, is it?”

“Me?”

Gwynevere glanced down at her gown, its pure white with gold trim, but the high slit on the side revealed her thighs, the curve of her hips faintly visible.

After a moment’s hesitation, she replied, “No, it’s fine.”