The Priest’s Announcement and Freya’s Terrifying Vision

“This autumn, an unprecedented plague descended upon this land. A terrible disaster, it wreaked havoc on our lives. Yet, through divine protection and the staunch efforts of all His loyal followers, this dreadful calamity, though still lurking in the shadows, has been effectively contained.”

The priest’s gaze flickered to the speech notes clutched in his palm. Before the faint script could vanish, he swiftly began to read aloud.

“I know… in this disaster, some have lost fathers, some have lost friends, some have lost children… But, as long as we hold unwavering faith and abide by divine decree, under God’s radiant gaze, there is no insurmountable hardship we cannot overcome!”

The priest’s voice, rich with emotion, rose and fell in a captivating cadence. Below the dais, the faithful swayed with the rhythm of his words, their emotions mirroring the speech’s ebb and flow. These were people who had truly endured the calamity, sensing the profound weight behind his pronouncements.

“Throughout this period, all levels of the Church have prioritized prevention and control. Through meticulous implementation, specific directives, and comprehensive screening, our effective measures have left no remnant of the plague undiscovered.

“Moreover, from the Kingdom’s heart to every barony, Church institutions have continuously monitored the disaster’s containment. They have tirelessly educated the faithful on self-protection and communal safety through various means.

“Paimon Fortress, identified as the ‘origin point’ of the first infection, enacted a complete lockdown, enforcing a strict defense against its spread…

“We have accomplished much, and truly, there was only so much more we could do…”

At precisely the right moment, the priest began to sigh, allowing his own emotions to settle, and with them, the sentiments of the congregation.

He lowered his head, remaining silent for a full minute.

A few muffled sobs seemed to ripple through the crowd below, and inwardly, he knew the time was ripe.

“However, God has not forsaken His loyal followers after all. I know you have heard whispers of a healing sorcerer in Paimon Fortress, one capable of curing this infectious disease—”

The priest drew a deep breath, channeling a surge of magic. His voice, amplified by a Magic Crystal Ball, boomed across the square.

“Indeed, that healer is none other than Prince Kayar—”

“Tomorrow at noon, within the hallowed Temple of Light, Prince Kayar shall receive the blessings of the Archbishop of the Theocracy and the Pope—”

“And at that very hour, in this very location, we shall broadcast the event live through a magical crystal projection—”

Having made his announcement, he did not linger to bask in the cheers and applause of the faithful. Instead, he simply turned and departed.

Unaware of the true circumstances, the congregants assumed the esteemed Priest had urgent matters to attend to, praising his discipline and dignified demeanor.

Roland watched the priest’s retreating back, his gaze lingering. He quietly committed the words to memory, then decided against rejoining Roxy. Instead, he slowly made his way toward the Moonlight Hotel.

****

“Maria, help… help me…”

Only once inside the church, safely out of sight of the faithful, did the priest finally lose his composure. His face was ashen, and he leaned heavily against a wall, gasping for air. His legs trembled as if he had just completed a grueling march. The elegant, composed aura had vanished from his face as he frantically waved at a nun within the church.

“Father Kilian, how many times must I tell you? My name isn’t Maria; it’s Mary…”

The nun, Mary, quickly stepped forward, taking hold of the priest’s arm to steady him.

Feeling a measure of support, the priest finally caught his breath.

“Oh, don’t fuss over such trivial details, Mary. Ugh… I’ve expended far too much of my magic.” He grimaced, looking utterly spent, and quickly pointed to a nearby prayer chair. “Quickly, help me over to sit for a moment. Yes, that’s it. Oh, my!”

Once settled on the chair, he practically collapsed his somewhat portly body onto it, breathing heavily.

“Damn it all! This magic crystal ball is an ancient relic from who knows how many years ago, and they still expect me to use it! I only have level 20 magic, and broadcasting across the entire square practically drained half my life force!

“Those idiotic bishops upstairs never bother to buy anything new. They collect tithes more diligently than dogs scavenging for scraps, yet when it comes to purchasing new equipment, why do they never spare a single coin to improve conditions for us ordinary priests?”

“If this continues, I might as well start collecting money with them. With the paltry Church subsidies, I’ll starve to death!”

Kilian grumbled impatiently, then gestured to the nun, Mary.

“Maria, could you—”

“It’s Mary! My name is Mary!” A vein throbbed on Mary’s forehead.

“Yes, Maria, fetch me a bottle of the Priest’s Elixir. You know, the black bottled water I keep at the foot of the statue.” Kilian ignored her correction, focused only on his request.

“Honestly!” Mary suppressed the urge to throttle him. She walked to the altar and pulled a wooden box from a crevice at the base of the statue of the God of Light.

The wooden box was crudely fashioned from old, rough planks, its edges dusty and splintered. Opening it required careful handling to avoid scratching one’s fingers. Inside lay several glass bottles filled with a dark liquid—the very ‘Priest’s Elixir’ the priest had mentioned. She retrieved one, meticulously wiped the dust from its exterior, and then handed the bottle to Kilian.

“Ah—”

The crisp, effervescent bubbles slid down his throat. Kilian let out a resounding burp, a look of pure satisfaction spreading across his face. “Indeed, mixing certain airborne substances with Holy Water, along with Sodium Benzoate Herb and Acesulfame K, was a truly brilliant idea. *Hiccup*—”

“Perhaps you should drink less,” Mary said, tying on an apron, her brow furrowed. “Ever since you invented this ‘Elixir of Joy,’ you’ve been drinking a bottle every single day. If your weight was normal before, you’re now on the verge of collapsing that chair over there!”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Kilian took another gulp, his body slumped, only his thick neck moving agilely as he swallowed. Then, he tilted the bottle of Elixir towards Mary. “How was my speech just now?” he asked.

“It was… alright.”

“What do you mean, ‘alright’? I prepared for ages, and I rehearsed the emotions eight hundred times!”

“Wasn’t the speech prepared by the Church in advance? And I saw the words written on your hand!” Mary ruthlessly exposed his lie, then walked towards the washroom with a rag. “Besides, why can’t you hire more people? I’m the only nun in this entire church. How am I supposed to keep everything clean?”

The priest, slumped in his chair, offered no reply. He merely hummed a tune, a leisurely expression on his face, as he idly swirled the glass bottle in his left hand.

It was only after Mary’s figure disappeared from sight that Kilian drained the last of the Elixir.

When consumed too quickly, the drink’s normally crisp and sweet flavor turned unexpectedly bitter.

‘That little brat. I shouldn’t have picked her up back then…’ He smacked his lips. ‘She’s grown so disobedient.’

‘By my reckoning, the Grey Academy of Magic’s entrance exams will begin soon…’

He gazed at a portrait on the wall, silently sinking into a sea of memories.

‘This time, I absolutely cannot… let Mary enter that damn academy!’

****

Meanwhile, inside the Moonlight Hotel.

Finally overcoming that terrible sensation, Freya stretched languidly, then slid out of bed. Still barefoot, as was her habit, she padded into the washroom.

Magic truly proved a useful tool; by encasing her skin in it, she never had to worry about grime adhering to it.

Approaching the washbasin, she wiped the foggy mirror, revealing a beautiful and radiant face. Her lustrous, pure white hair, easily discernible even in the dim light, cascaded in fluid lines like rippling water. Perhaps finding it too troublesome, her waist-length hair remained largely unbound, casually fanning out behind her head.

With a slight furrow of her brow, Freya exhaled softly. Her lips, the color of fluttering petals, parted just slightly, revealing the faint dimples on her pretty cheeks.

‘Should I tie my hair up?’ She gathered her long hair into a束, contemplating her reflection. Her slightly arched eyebrows and delicate eye shape beautifully accentuated her innate grace. ‘Perhaps… like this?’

She parted her hair completely to one side, using one hand to form a circular band, creating a low, side-swept ponytail. This style subtly toned down her inherent allure, instead imbuing her with an air of gentle elegance.

‘That’s odd, I keep getting a strange sense of danger.’ She narrowed her eyes, staring at her reflection. For some reason, this hairstyle gave her an unsettling feeling. ‘Never mind, who cares? I look stunning no matter what.’

Lifting the hem of her black pleated skirt, she twirled from side to side, and the beautiful girl in the mirror swayed along with her.

Who could this be, a beauty rivaling the most vibrant blossoms, blooming like a flower?

Why, it’s me, of course!

“Hmm~ Oh?”

Freya, engrossed in her narcissistic gaze, suddenly pondered a question. ‘How did I ever fall for Roland in the first place?’

While the guy was decent-looking, he certainly didn’t appear wealthy, nor was he a noble…

‘Could I have been tricked into this?’

Her memories remained frustratingly hazy. Was there truly no way to recover them?

*Thump, thump, thump…*

For the third time, a strange thud echoed from the bedroom cabinet. Freya, still in the washroom, frowned. She hastily splashed water on her face, then headed towards the cabinet.

The wooden cabinet here was divided into two compartments: the upper section for potions, and the lower for Roland’s other belongings. She had never opened the lower section before; Roland had forbidden it.

However, he was out now…

Unable to suppress her surging curiosity, Freya cautiously peeked towards the door. After confirming no one was present, she stealthily pried open the lower compartment of the cabinet.

Inside lay two swords: one short, one long. The short sword was old yet sharp, while the long sword was encased in thick layers of cowhide.

She took out the long sword, then began tearing away the layers of cowhide that enveloped it. As she did, the long sword began to tremble faintly.

“Is this the Holy Sword? It’s moving! How magical.”

Eager to examine it further, she leaned her face closer to the blade, simultaneously stroking the trembling hilt with one hand.

A slow, insidious magic seeped from the sword, adhering to her hand, then gradually permeating her body.

“Kill him… kill him…”

A chilling, distorted whisper echoed from an unknown direction. The surrounding lights dimmed instantly.

The next moment, Freya found herself standing in a shadowy forest.

Behind her, a shivering wind howled, and cold magic locked onto her.

Feeling that dreadful, bone-chilling aura, she clutched the strangely radiating sword and slowly turned around.

Beneath the sparse, cold moonlight, a slender figure stood. His eyebrows were long and fine, yet not overly thick, complementing his straight nose and tanned skin, exuding an air of refined yet robust masculinity.

However, his amber eyes blazed with a fierce, bestial killing intent.

His medium-length, flaxen hair ruffled in the wind. In his right hand, he held a short sword, from which emanated a pale blue light and an unyielding will.

The light was lightning.

The will was sword intent.

“Husband…”

Freya felt an inexplicable fear, so profound she dared not utter his name. Her hand slowly dropped, and she suddenly realized she was clutching the eerie long sword in her right hand.

The tip of the long sword touched the ground, a silent signal for battle.

Roland, facing her, his expression hardening, stomped forcefully on the ground beneath him. The earth itself buckled and cracked under his exaggerated power.

Propelled by this force, he flew towards her like a bird, his glowing short sword slicing through the air with a sharp hiss.

The flashing lightning arrived faster than the sharp blade, and the arrogant killing intent was swifter still than the lightning.

Without a moment’s thought, her body instinctively raised the long sword in her right hand, blocking the trajectory of the short sword’s attack.

*Clang—*

The sword shattered.

Her arm broke.

Freya stared blankly at her severed arm, but her terror was so immense that even a scream was stifled deep within her heart.

The cold blade pressed against her neck once more. Slowly, she tilted her head back, meeting his amber eyes.

“Farewell, Demon Lord.”

*Slash—*

Freya’s consciousness snapped back to reality, yet the pain in her neck felt alarmingly real. Trembling, she reached up to touch her throat, then brought her hand before her eyes.

“No blood…”

She looked at the sword in her hand again. It was utterly inert now, as if everything that had just occurred was a mere figment.

Wrapping the cowhide back around it, she thought of nothing. She simply wound it layer after layer, but repeatedly wrapped her own arm into the process. She erred once, rewrapped. Erred twice, rewrapped again. Erred thrice, and slapped herself.

After slapping herself twice, she finally managed to wrap the sword, though its appearance was now a sorry sight.

She could only pray Roland wouldn’t notice anything amiss upon his return.

With a lingering sense of dread, she closed the cabinet, her trembling hands still refusing to still.

*Knock, knock, knock—*

The knock on the door made her jump, startling her entire being. She froze, unable to react.

“Open up? Hello?”

It was Roland’s voice, so familiar, yet also so terrifying to Freya.

‘What exactly were those illusions? So familiar… had they truly happened?’

After a prolonged knocking, Roland’s impatient voice rang out. “Hey, hey, hey! Open the door, are you asleep?”

Freya rushed forward, nearly stumbling. She gripped the doorknob, taking a deep breath. Then another. And another.

Finally feeling a hint of calm, she forced a faint smile and opened the door.

“Husband, you’re back…”