NOVPUBCold sweat trickled down her forehead.
Liliane couldn't speak.
Her voice had abandoned her, strangled by something unfamiliar—perhaps the overwhelming pressure... or perhaps the presence of the young man standing beside her.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch light, his gaze steady—though it betrayed a flicker of concern.
"Saintess, are you feeling alright? Maybe sit down for a moment."
"H-Huh?"
His voice was warm, but his breath brushed against her like frost. The contrast left her stunned.
Dizzy.
Before she even realized it, the world tilted—and the next thing she knew, she was sitting atop a throne.
A throne of crystal-clear ice, sculpted with impossible detail. It hadn't been there a second ago.
She blinked.
The boy with crimson eyes was still looking at her, brows slightly furrowed in worry.
'What is this... why... why do I feel so afraid?'
"Would you like a drink, perhaps?"
"U-Um..."
Before she could form a proper answer, he turned and walked to the counter. He poured something—apple juice, she realized—and returned without ceremony, offering it to her with one hand.
She accepted it before she could even think, her fingers brushing against his.
He smiled softly. Just a little.
But it was enough to make her face burn.
She averted her eyes, panicking inwardly.
'W-What the hell! What's wrong with me?! I'm the Saintess—for the love of the Gods!'
And yet, without thought, she downed the entire glass in one long gulp and exhaled shakily. 𝔫𝖔𝖛𝖕𝔲𝔟.𝔠𝖔𝖒
Lowering her eyes, Liliane whispered, voice barely audible,
"I... I apologize for such unsightly behavior. I don't know what came over me."
But the boy simply shook his head.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
Then, from beside them, the man who had been silently observing—his eyes filled with amusement—finally spoke.
"Those who've lived in fear their entire lives... their instincts go mad in front of the unknown. Their battle sense screams at them."
The red-eyed boy sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, shooting the man an irritated look.
"Stop trying to terrify her. If you keep that up, nothing will move forward."
The man only shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
He stood.
"Well, I'll be taking my leave now. Try not to get yourself killed."
Then—
Liliane blinked.
The man was gone.
So was the glass he had been holding.
"…?"
'Where did he go...?'
Her body shuddered.
It was then—
Liliane realized.
That man...
Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump! Badump!
He reminded her of the Pope.
'No... it can't be. I must be losing my mind!'
Then suddenly, the boy beside her spoke.
His voice was soft, almost unplaceable—like a whisper carried on breath, barely brushing her ears.
"Yeah... you too, my friend."
Her eyes shifted toward him.
He was staring at the spot where the man had been just moments ago.
'Friend...?'
Tentatively, she called out.
"Umm... excuse me?"
He turned to her. Their gazes met—
Eyes of crimson.
"Hm?"
"That man... he's your friend, right?"
He paused, considering.
"It's complicated. But I suppose you could call us that, yeah."
"…He's also Guest Number 001, isn't he?"
"That is correct."
"I see..."
Liliane touched her chin, her expression thoughtful, gaze falling downward.
'But he's already gone... I didn't even get the chance to say anything. The Pope... he'll be furious that I failed my mission.'
Her eyes drifted upward again.
The boy was watching her quietly, his head tilted slightly, as if puzzled by her silence.
'Does he know? About the story of the wings being fake? If they're friends, maybe he's just as valuable as that man...'
Determined, Liliane rose to her feet.
The boy took a step back, curiosity flickering across his features.
Her expression softened. A gentle smile tugged at her lips as she lowered herself ever so slightly in a respectful bow.
"Please allow me to properly introduce myself. I apologize for taking so long... and for my earlier rudeness."
She placed a hand across her chest.
"As you may have already guessed, I am the Saintess of the Ten Heavenly Churches—Liliane. May the Ten guide you and your kind soul. May I know your name, mister...?"
The boy responded with a soft, enigmatic smile and inclined his head only slightly.
"It's an honor to meet the Saintess of the Ten Heavenly Churches. I am Azriel, Prince of the Crimson Clan."
Liliane blinked.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
'HE'S THAT INFAMOUS PRINCE—!?'
Liliane's eyes widened,
her expression shifting into one of stunned surprise.
'No. No way... that can't be true! He looks nothing like I imagined!'
From the scattered rumors and the few scraps of information she had managed to gather, she never expected him to be Prince Azriel Crimson.
She had pictured someone overweight. Or perhaps grotesque, scarred, maybe even brutish—A man shaped by two years of surviving in the Void Realm. Someone hardened, disfigured, terrifying.
But...
Before her stood a delicate, almost fragile-looking young man.
He didn't look like someone who had ever even wielded a sword!
Azriel chuckled softly, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"I imagine it must be a surprise, seeing me here," he said, his voice light.
"Though... that means you weren't here for me, were you?"
Liliane shook her head slightly.
"No... I had something I needed to say to that man, but..."
Her gaze flicked back to the place where the mysterious figure had stood only moments before.
'Did he use space magic? Or something similar...?'
That man was far more enigmatic than she had first assumed.
Strangely, though, Liliane found that the fear she'd felt earlier had dulled. Vanished, even. She no longer felt the tight grip of panic clutching her chest.
"Yes, he's a difficult one to catch," Azriel said, as though reading her thoughts.
"He's always busy—hard to track down. I apologize. If I'd known you were here for him, I wouldn't have let you waste your time."
Liliane quickly shook her head.
"This was definitely not a waste—none of this is your fault. If anything, the blame lies with me. But... Prince Azriel, may I ask..."
Her voice lowered slightly, careful.
"Do you know his name? Perhaps... there's a way I could reach him."
She watched him closely now. Every expression, every flicker of movement in his eyes, his posture. He kept smiling politely, but there was something unreadable beneath it.
She didn't feel fear anymore, no. But her caution hadn't disappeared—it had simply evolved.
Liliane had only met two other renowned children of the Great Clans in person: Jasmine Crimson and Lioren Dusk, during their visit to her continent. Now that she looked closely, Azriel did indeed bear the refined elegance of the Crimson Clan.
To her question, however, the prince shook his head gently.
His smile faded slightly into a more apologetic gaze.
"Unfortunately... I'm in no position to share any information about him. Whether it's his name or otherwise. I hope you'll understand—I want to respect his privacy."
Disappointment flickered across her face, if only briefly.
"I see... that's understandable."
That man was clearly powerful—Liliane could tell from the moment she laid eyes on him. She would have to relay everything she had gathered to the Pope. Hopefully, it would be enough to lessen his anger.
But...
The one standing in front of her now—he might be just as mysterious.
No... perhaps even more so.
Her face paled slightly as something clicked in her perception.
'He... he's a Grade 3 Advanced.'
She, herself, was only a Grade 1 Intermediate. And even that was considered a divine blessing—one of the strongest among her age group under the rule of the Ten Heavenly Churches that governed the entirety of America.
A single thought passed through her mind:
'The Tournament of the Greats... it really won't be easy.'
He wasn't just mysterious like that man.
Prince Azriel... was dangerous.
Liliane narrowed her eyes slightly, careful not to let him notice.
For someone who had survived two years in the Void Realm, for someone surrounded by rumors—both awe-inspiring and damning—he was definitely not ordinary.
'Who knows what he might know?'
Then there was another rumor.
'The Young Hero of CASC.'
If the whispers were true... if he had really taken down a Heptarch of Neo Genesis, then he wasn't stupid either.
As she parted her lips to continue this awkward, tension-filled conversation, her gaze caught something—just a sliver of white beneath his sleeve.
A bandage. Loose, sticking out slightly from beneath his clothing.
Azriel followed her gaze, then looked down and let out a soft sigh.
"I didn't wrap it properly, huh."
Liliane blinked. An opportunity presented itself.
"If you're injured... Prince Azriel, I can heal you—if you don't mind. I use light magic."
It struck her as odd—a prince, walking around injured without using a health potion?
Surely, there had to be a reason. Maybe he couldn't.
Or maybe... the light affinity might catch his interest.
"...!"
But contrary to her expectations, Azriel shook his head and pulled back his sleeve slightly.
He revealed the full extent of his arm, wrapped entirely in bandages.
He adjusted the loosened part, securing it tightly with a practiced motion.
Then, he spoke—calmly, as if the injury meant nothing.
"Unfortunately, this is the kind of wound no affinity or potion can heal. I got it during my time in the Void Realm."
"Oh... I apologize. That was careless of me."
Azriel simply chuckled, shaking his head as he hid the bandages beneath his sleeve once more.
"You apologize too much, Saintess. Please, don't lower yourself over something so trivial."
Liliane looked at him, then slowly nodded.
"Yes... I'm grateful for your advice, Prince."
But inwardly, she couldn't help it.
She was nervous. Awkward. And cautious.
Too much had happened in such a short time.
'...I wonder what could've caused a wound no magic can heal.'
Whatever it was, it had to be something dreadful.
An abomination beyond imagination—something he had survived.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, something unexpected happened.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room. Liliane's head snapped toward the prince—then to the counter. But to her utter confusion, there were no shards. Nothing broken. No fragments anywhere.
'Huh?'
The sound didn't stop. It twisted and stretched, no longer like glass shattering—but tearing. As if something unseen was being slowly pulled apart.
""—!!""
Liliane froze.
The sound wasn't coming from inside the room.
It came from above.
Like a trumpet sounding from the heavens… it came from the sky.
Their eyes met—hers wide with panic, his unreadable—and at once, both sprinted toward the exit.
The prince was faster. Naturally, he reached the door before her.
'What... what is happening?!'
The sound grew louder. Piercing. It drilled into her ears, made her skull throb with every pulse. Her legs moved on instinct alone, chasing the figure ahead of her as he turned down the corridor.
They were on the higher floors.
"Follow me," he said calmly.
She didn't question. She couldn't. She just ran.
They reached a balcony. Together, they rushed to the edge.
And then—they looked up.
Like a whip lashing against the heavens, the sky cracked.
Lines of fracture spread across it like shattered porcelain. The tear widened.
"W-W-What... what is going on...!"
Liliane's breath caught in her throat.
A look of pure horror twisted her face. She turned to Azriel, desperate for answers.
But he didn't move.
He simply watched, eyes fixed on the sky. Calm. Composed. Unshaken.
And then—
It came.
A sound so loud, so otherworldly, it felt as if the entire world had heard it. Every soul across every land.
A scream that didn't belong to any creature—no beast, no god.
It was a shriek of the cosmos unraveling, a cry of tension snapping after being pulled for eons.
From the cracked sky, jagged veins of light bloomed outward.
And for a single breath, the world stood still.
Everything frozen.
Suspended.
Waiting.
Then—
A blinding beam of light erupted from the sky's wound.
White.
Colossal.
Unforgiving.
It crashed downward like the judgment of the divine.
"Ah…"
Liliane could only whisper.
Her heart screamed what her lips could not:
'The gods… they're here. They're judging us.'
The beam tore through the clouds, humming with an energy that felt alien—as though the very laws of reality were cracking beneath its weight.
And through it all… the sound lingered.
A high, trembling note. Like the scream of a dying star. Endless. Eternal.
And as the light descended…
As the world was consumed by its brilliance, swallowing everything in white—
She heard his voice beside her.
Soft. Calm. Unwavering.
The whisper of Prince Azriel Crimson.
"And so it begins."
