Chapter 110: Chapter 110

"Honestly, I didn’t realize it at first. Amy is such a common name, after all. But then you came along, Viga. That’s when I understood—ah, so this is a follower of Pebula using the body of a sacrifice."

‘So he doesn’t know I was Amy?’

Viga kept her expression neutral, quickly assessing the situation.

"I was the one who hid the Fugah Shrine. I tucked it away in case I ever needed it in the future, but I never expected its followers to still be alive. What a pleasant surprise. I was so happy that I even decided to offer you my generosity and share a few things."

Eden’s shadow swelled, morphing into the massive form of a snake.

Darkness slid off like shedding skin, revealing an enormous white serpent that loomed over Viga, jaws stretching wide as if ready to devour her.

"What a disappointment. You’re not even worth speaking to anymore."

"And yet you invited me here if I wanted to know the truth?"

"If you become one with me, you’ll understand everything."

The snake moved slowly, circling her as though savoring the moment before it struck.

Viga resisted the urge to launch an attack immediately.

"If you kill me, you’ll never find the key."

"Hah, do you even know what it is you’re threatening me with?"

"No idea. But I’d bet it’s a key to Morion’s chamber or something along those lines."

"At least you have some wits about you."

Eden laughed as if amused by a child who had just managed to piece together a basic puzzle.

His condescending tone made her stomach churn, but she held back her disgust. The longer he talked, the more she could learn.

"It’s an enchantment—a Key Spell. A magic developed in the early days of the cult."

Eden explained, his voice carrying the enthusiasm of a scholar flaunting his prized research.

"When we first began crafting Morion, we needed to keep it hidden from the temple’s watchful eyes. So we designed a seal that required five separate keys to open. Only when all five were gathered would the path to its full power be unlocked."

"And the Elders each took a key for themselves."

"I wasn’t originally planning to tell you about the keys at all. But when I found out that Heorim had entrusted one to you, I was intrigued."

"I have to ask—are all Fugah Shrine followers this pathetic? Even the common devotees in my time were more competent."

"Do I look like a common devotee?"

"No need to test it. There’s no way any high-ranking follower of Fugah Shrine would still be alive. Even if they were, they’d be too precious to let out into the world so recklessly."

A so-called saint who knows nothing of their god.

It was proof that she shouldn’t believe a single word he said.

The one who had sacrificed humans, who had created the Black Serpent—it wasn’t Pebula.

And now, he was trying to shift the blame onto the divine.

Even though she had never been a particularly devout believer, the sheer audacity of it made her seethe with rage.

But she forced herself to stay calm.

She repeated her plan in her head.

We have successfully extracted the soul from a living being using Beatitudo. A side effect observed: when a fragment of the soul is removed, a portion of memory is also lost.

She had found that record while searching through the cult’s archives.

And after that, she had discovered something even more crucial.

When the soul fragment was returned to the original body, the lost memories came back.

The fragment contained memories.

Reading that, a thought had occurred to her.

If Beatitudo can extract a soul, then can’t pure divine energy do the same?

If the soul is already unstable—like mine—wouldn’t the chances be even higher?

Of course, it wasn’t as if she was some mad researcher eager to rip apart her own soul out of curiosity.

She wasn’t after the soul itself.

She was after the side effect.

"If Cruello won’t believe me, then I’ll just have to show him."

The pain of betrayal from someone you trusted was nothing compared to having your soul ripped apart without understanding why.

So she would send a piece of her memories directly to him.

She could afford this reckless plan only because she knew—there would be another chance.

Eden’s fangs glinted as he prepared to strike.

Viga gathered her divine power.

Sensing it, the white serpent tightened around her, constricting with deadly force.

"Did you really think you could escape? If I intended to let you leave, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on you."

The crushing weight bore down on her, but Viga didn’t retreat.

Instead, she pressed her hand against the serpent’s scales.

"That’s what I wanted to test."

"How strong you really are. Whether you’re a true saint. If you still hold Pebula’s blessing. If you’ve fully turned into a necromancer. All of it."

If he had completely become a necromancer, then she wouldn’t survive this.

Eighth Spell: Paradise.

Viga poured every last drop of her divine energy into a single attack.

A pillar of pure white light erupted, so blindingly intense that even her own vision blurred.

That power had two purposes:

First, to tear a piece of her own soul ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) free.

Second, to strike at Eden and his monstrous form.

This was her best move.

If it killed Eden—good.

If it didn’t—at least she’d carry his secrets with her to her next life.

She wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do.

Even if she successfully extracted her soul, there was no telling which memories would be preserved.

For all she knew, Pebula might hide everything about Eden and only allow trivial secrets to remain.

But Viga had a way to account for that uncertainty.

"Pebula, I place my trust in you."

If her god truly wished to save the world, then Pebula would choose the right memories to send forward.

To put it bluntly, this wasn’t just a test of her faith in Pebula.

It was also an act of arrogance.

She was testing her god.

Would Pebula act as she hoped?

Could she still believe?

The answer would come in the next life.

Through her blurred vision, she saw something glimmering.

A golden, translucent shape—

But if she simply severed it, it would return to her.

Third Spell: Transmission.

A white butterfly emerged, carrying the fragment of her soul and burning with her final wish.

At that moment, her physical body could no longer withstand the sheer force of divine energy.

Bones cracked. Flesh tore.

The divine power she had barely been able to contain burst free, unraveling her soul.

A fragment of her being moved forward.

Now, to Siora Bonetti.

Incomplete memories passed to the next self.

Thick, red liquid splattered onto the ground.

The man could endure no longer. He collapsed onto his knees.

His trembling hand slipped away from Morion’s surface.

The resurrection spell’s glow began to dim.

The black energy, darker than anything in existence, shuddered, retracting as it coiled back in on itself.

Even though Cruello had poured an immense amount of energy into the process, Morion’s presence remained unchanged.

He clutched his mouth, struggling for breath.

His entire body was wrecked.

A filthy, tainted residue clung to him where the mana had surged through.

But none of that mattered.

There was only one question on his mind.

The resurrection circle had activated.

Had he lost control of Morion’s power?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The fragment of a soul had failed to absorb even a sliver of Morion’s power.

‘It went somewhere else.’

Had it merely failed to merge, it would have crumbled and disappeared.

But instead, it had flown toward a specific destination.

And that could only mean—

An unexpected result occurred during an experiment on a living subject. When the resurrection spell was activated, the soul fragment returned to the living body and reintegrated with the subject’s original soul."

It was a known reaction when using a living person’s soul fragment.

Cruello’s eyes darkened with suspicion.

My eyelids lifted painfully slowly.

I struggled to open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling of a bedroom.

I had seen this sight countless times before, yet for some reason, a lump formed in my throat.

I raised both hands and covered my eyes.

"They say running away from home only brings suffering."

But I hadn’t left by choice. This was too much.

A boiling emotion surged in my chest, like oil bubbling over a fire.

It wasn’t as if I had just returned from prison—I had only come back home. Crying over this would be embarrassing.

I tried to focus on the facts, as I always did.

There was a lot I had learned.

Memories I hadn’t even realized I had lost had returned, clearing the chaos in my mind.

Viga hadn’t died from overwork—she had been murdered by Eden...

Strictly speaking, he had tried to kill me, but my soul had been ejected before he could finish the job.

Well, that sounded pathetic. Let’s just call it murder.

I wouldn’t forget this grudge, Eden.

It was almost comical.

Was this my punishment for daring to test a god? Of all things, the memories of that moment had vanished completely.

So even Pebula holds grudges...

Regardless, I had given it my all, and Eden had survived.

So how was I supposed to kill that monster? Did I really need to find Beatitudo?

More questions lingered.

If I wasn’t dead, did that mean my divine energy was still intact? Was it even possible for me to retain it?

Had Eden survived for centuries because of Beatitudo?

How had he avoided suspicion for so long?

And most importantly—what was his true goal?

But no matter how many questions I had, my priorities remained the same.

Kill Eden White Desert.

In the end, all I had learned was that the Elder Council’s corruption ran even deeper than I had thought.

The task had become infinitely harder, but...

As I was lost in thought, I heard a small click.

I removed my hands from my face and slowly pushed myself up.

Every joint in my body groaned in protest, but I managed to lean against the headboard.

If an enemy had broken in, I was in no condition to resist—I might as well present my neck to be cut.

But I wasn’t alarmed.

A long leg stepped over the window frame.

A hand gripped the sill.

A lean figure, clad in a thin shirt, slipped inside.

The moment our eyes met, his gaze wavered.

Like he had been caught off guard.

Like he hadn’t been prepared for this.

Something inside me cracked open.

What should a person feel at a moment ?

Should I be furious that he had deceived me and dared to touch Morion?

Or should I pity him for his desperation, for trying to resurrect the Viga he lost?

I had become good at behaving normally in ordinary situations.

But this—this was far from ordinary.

I simply opened my arms.

I had no strength left to move toward him.

And though I had been speaking just fine earlier, my throat closed up, strangled by emotion.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

And the moment he reached me—

I pulled him into an embrace.

Again, he wasn’t particularly warm.

But compared to being alone, the warmth of another person was as searing as fire.

The fact that he called my name—Siora—

That, too, felt so unbearably sorrowful.

And so, like a child, I broke down in tears.

I hadn’t cried in so long.

Having thoroughly ruined his shirt, I finally lifted my head.

Cruello, who had been awkwardly patting my back, spoke first.

"Are you done crying?"

"There’s still a little left, but I’ll spare you."

I looked around, searching for something to wipe my face with.

There was nothing. Should I call for Betty?

Cruello wordlessly handed me a handkerchief.

Luckily, it was dry enough to clean my face properly.

Only then did he ask,

"So... why were you crying?"