The Grand Orator’s Return

Into the silent, empty room, a sudden gust of wind, laced with icy tendrils and frost, swept in. The window, open just a tiny crack, allowed the linen curtain to flutter softly.

A shadowy figure, wreathed in smoke, squeezed through the window’s narrow gap into the room. It spread across the floor like a liquid, flattening out.

Smoke billowed up from the shadow, condensing into a humanoid form. The girl’s curvaceous figure gradually became visible, and as the swirling smoke dissipated, a frost-laden, snow-silver cloak settled around her.

When Daphne returned to her room in the church, the sky had not yet fully darkened. Outside, the evening glow was dim, with the edges of the clouds stained a faint, muted gold.

She had arrived in Kohl Town a step ahead of Edith, but not by much. After all, she had been entangled with Gwynevere and the necromancer for a while, causing her to start later than intended.

Soon, she would revert to being Edith’s ‘toy’ once more. Daphne found herself beginning to miss this period of relative freedom.

It was her first time using the active skill of the Death Sigil, ‘Skeletal Ornament,’ and the effect had been surprisingly good. By sacrificing 20% of her maximum magic and health, she could gain a fel energy shield that absorbed damage.

The sheer number of skeletons and ghouls meant the ornament’s shield wouldn’t have been effective. Out of necessity, she had relied on Gwynevere’s ‘Ice Barrier’ to dodge attacks. However, the Zombie Mage’s ‘Painful Lash’ was a single-target, single-hit ability, prompting Daphne to swiftly exchange protective measures with Gwynevere without hesitation.

Assisting in the defeat of the mage earned her 80 experience points, which doubled to 160 experience points after the efficiency bonus. The ‘Staff of White Bones’ was also acquired. Daphne felt deeply satisfied, having reaped considerable benefits from this encounter.

However, there was little time for Daphne to allocate skill points or research new equipment. She had to change her clothes and revert to Ellenore’s appearance before Edith returned, pretending she had never left the room.

She firmly closed the window, shedding her dress and cloak. Just as Daphne tucked the items into her shadow, she heard the distinct sound of horse hooves approaching from outside.

Edith and the Templar knights had already returned to Kohl Town. She needed to hurry.

Even with prior experience, it was challenging to quickly don the Gothic-style dress Edith had given her without assistance.

Her arms seemed shorter after transforming into a girl, making it impossible to reach the ties and bows at her back. Daphne, growing frantic, stomped her feet before the mirror, her small, white-stockinged feet squeaking against the old wooden floorboards.

The commotion outside the church was considerable. Everyone, no doubt, had come out to greet Edith upon her safe return.

The caravan survivors had already returned to town much earlier. The townspeople had heard tales of Edith’s heroic deeds and glorious victories in advance, and Daphne could hear the cheers and applause from the second floor.

Though the battle had claimed lives, the resulting victory was not bad at all.

A celebratory feast and a memorial service were always intertwined; Daphne had come to understand this truth profoundly since arriving in this world.

Fortunately, the townspeople’s delay bought Daphne precious time. Her mood relaxed, and she quickly discovered a trick: using the girl’s skeletal flexibility, she managed to tie the laces and bows behind her back.

After much struggle, it was time for the high heels.

The process of putting on the shoes itself was acceptable; the heels fit perfectly. However, standing meant transferring all her weight to her toes, and every step would subject Daphne to an intense sensory overload due to her heightened sensitivity.

The half-blood girl, softly moaning, shuffled her awkward, clattering steps to the dressing mirror and sat down. She gazed at her own rose-red, crystalline eyes reflected in the glass, pausing for a moment in quiet contemplation.

Daphne felt a sense of unreality.

She still couldn’t believe she had transformed into such a beautiful yet frail girl. Everything she had experienced felt like a dramatic, absurd dream.

After all, transmigrating into a game world was inherently preposterous.

She had arrived in a magical world utterly different from her previous life, unable to see her former family and friends again. She watched helplessly as the apocalypse advanced step by step along its predetermined trajectory, her efforts and struggles seeming so laughable, so insignificant.

She had believed her plan was flawless, that the future would unfold towards light and beauty, only to encounter such a drastic change.

She had lost all her levels, faith, skills, and traits, becoming the lowest of the half-bloods, forcibly fitted with strange modifications, even having that adorned with humiliating accessories.

Amidst a relentless string of misfortunes, Daphne hadn’t even had a moment to ask herself:

‘Was it still necessary to persevere?’

The inevitable end became the half-blood girl’s nightmare. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw this world collapsing and being destroyed in a terrible catastrophe. Gigantic skeletal dragons flapped their decaying wings, soaring overhead, and the necromantic azure flames scorched this already ravaged land.

“Am I… thinking too much?”

She reached out to touch the mirror.

She saw a glimmer of tears in those rose-red eyes, and tears rolling down the cheeks of that beautiful yet sorrowful girl. She wished to wipe away the tears of that girl who had endured so much suffering yet had not given up.

“Cherish the present,” she told herself.

Joining her index and ring fingers, the half-blood girl lightly traced a line across her forehead. A deep crimson stain lingered where her fingertips passed, then instantly flowed and condensed into a symmetrical, bat-shaped imprint.

Her hair and cheeks gradually became covered by a blood-red shell. As the scarlet faded, the girl had transformed.

Silvery hair cascaded like a waterfall, and as her eyelids slowly lifted, her eyes gleamed with a pure, bright emerald green, like precious jade. Ellenore Perkin’s noble and sacred appearance had returned to her. From this moment on, she resumed her identity as the Grand Cantor.

Outside, the commotion had quieted slightly, replaced by the sound of shuffling footsteps in the long corridor.

Daphne intended to check the situation. Just as she rose, however, a knock sounded at her door. With a flutter of anxiety, she walked over and opened it, finding a nun, similar in age to Edith, standing demurely outside.

“May I help you?” Daphne asked, noticing the girl staring at her in a daze.

“Ah, I’m sorry… you’re just so beautiful, I got lost in thought for a moment…” The nun covered her flushed cheeks, shaking her head gently. After a flurry of apologies, she finally got to the point. “Miss Edith has returned safely. Pastor Amos asked me to inform you. I apologize if I’ve disturbed your rest.”

“I understand, thank you,” Daphne said, offering a helpless smile. “That’s truly heartwarming news. I’ll come down shortly to celebrate Miss Edith’s safe return with all of you.”