Chapter 111

Nagelis’s heart skipped: “Damn, caught out. Ang, let’s kill...”

Just as he was about to shout “attack and escape,” urging Ang to break out, Phaler had already stepped forward and rebuked: “Shamara, stop talking nonsense. This is Elder Ang, the ascetic here to treat you. Don’t speak foolishly.”

Then he turned to Ang with a contrite smile: “Elder Ang, forgive her. Shamara speaks without thought—her mental state is unstable. I hope you won’t take offense.”

This wasn’t rebuke at all—under the guise of reprimand, he smoothly apologized and explained for Shamara, his protective feelings obvious.

No need to fight their way out. Shamara was already seen as demon-possessed; no one would believe anything she said.

Shamara smiled, didn’t press further, only watched Ang with curiosity.

Nagelis felt uneasy under her gaze: “Damn. This saint isn’t insane or demon-possessed. How do we treat this? Forget it—get everyone out first, before we’re exposed.”

Ang tilted his head at Phaler and said: “You—all leave.”

Phaler hesitated, but finally glanced at Shamara with concern and left the dungeon.

Shamara watched all this without speaking, until Phaler was gone—then she waved her hand. Holes and cracks in the dungeon walls were now sealed shut.

Only then did Shamara repeat her earlier question: “Your holy light is too pure. You’re not a follower of Light. Who are you?”

Above the dungeon, Phaler and the holy knights pressed against the listening copper tubes—heard nothing. They stared at each other, bewildered.

Nagelis had been about to warn Ang about eavesdroppers, but Shamara had sealed it herself—what did that mean?

Following Nagelis’s cue, Ang asked: “You think I’m not—why not expose me to them?”

“Because they aren’t followers of Light either,” Shamara said.

“What? They’re not from the Church of Light? They’re impostors?” Nagelis exclaimed.

Shamara shook her head: “No, they are of the Church of Light—but not followers of Light. They don’t believe in Light. They believe only in the Church that gives them power, authority, wealth. If you told them the gods vanished, they’d stop believing.”

Nagelis drew a sharp breath. This wasn’t madness—this saint understood everything clearly. Others thought her demon-possessed; she thought they’d all abandoned faith.

“They say I’m demon-possessed. I see. I’m leaving,” Ang repeated Nagelis’s words, then turned to go.

He’d only been thrust into this—trying to quietly cure the saint’s madness and leave under plausible pretenses. Honestly, if she’d truly been insane, Nagelis was confident.

The Church of Light’s divine arts worked on wounds, illness, poison. Undead beings cured mental illness with miraculous effect—even rewriting or erasing memories. What was there to fear from insanity?

But the saint wasn’t insane—she was sharp. And now it seemed she no longer saw the Church of Light as believers in Light, but as apostates chasing power, wealth, and strength.

Perfect. You two talk. We’re leaving.

“Wait—you haven’t said who you are, or why you have such pure holy light,” Shamara said.

“Pure?” Ang summoned Purification, letting holy light rest in his palm.

“Pure. True holy light—no impurities. Unlike us—everyone is full of thoughts: power, status, wealth, choices, gains and losses, rewards, profit, desire. It’s pure,” Shamara said, envious.

“You? You’re not pure?” Ang repeated Nagelis’s question.

Nagelis was curious. According to Shamara’s words, she considered herself impure too. Strange—her eyes were crystal-clear, utterly untainted. Why did she think herself impure?

Shamara shook her head: “I’m not pure. I’ve always sought pure holy light, the purest Light. That desire is too strong—so I’m impure. Now that the gods are gone, I still want to claim holy light for myself—so even more impure. Your pure holy light is what I want. Can you give it to me?”

Shamara’s words sent a chill through Nagelis. To be so obsessed with purity that it made you impure? This had risen to the level of religious philosophy. And her final sentence—“give it to me”—sounded like: “I want your life. Give it to me, can you?”

Ang didn’t find it strange. He handed the holy light over. Didn’t the angelic skull always demand his holy light? Back when he unleashed his big attacks, he’d feed it sixty or seventy holy lights at once.

Shamara reached out, seized the holy light—but it dissolved almost instantly.

Watching the scattered specks, she frantically reached for them—but caught nothing.

“Gone, gone—give me holy light!” Shamara turned to Ang, frantic, like a little girl who’d lost her toy.

Nagelis sensed something wrong. He warned in Ang’s soul: “She’s off. Be careful.”

Off? Ang tilted his head. What was off? The angelic skull always looked like this when begging for restoration.

Nagelis wanted to vomit blood: “That’s exactly why it’s wrong! Normal people don’t act like angelic skulls!”

Ang ignored him, summoned another holy light. Shamara still couldn’t grasp it—her desperation grew.

Ang switched to Cleansing. If Purification couldn’t be held, could Cleansing?

Shamara seized it—and immediately sensed something wrong: “You defined holy light? You defined holy light!” First a question, then a declaration.

For over a thousand years, the Church of Light had produced no new divine arts—because no one could define holy light. Purification, Holy Word, Nicolas’s Chains of Original Sin, the Path of Obsession—all dated back a millennium.

But today, Shamara saw a divine art never recorded in scripture—a brand-new one. That meant someone had defined holy light.

“This is what I’ve sought—give it to me, give it to me, give it to me, give it to me!!” Shamara lunged for Ang’s hand, her movements growing wilder, bordering on violent.

Now Ang sensed something was wrong. Shamara’s emotions were unstable. Her final “give it to me” was a roar—her face twisted with fury.

BOOM! With that final shout, holy light erupted from Shamara’s body—a spectral holy spirit crossed the void and slammed onto her—Holy Spirit Possession.

“Give it to me. I want it,” Shamara said coldly, staring at Ang with blank eyes. Behind her, a pair of wings formed from energy snapped open—Holy Spirit Wings, the hallmark of possession.

But Shamara’s Holy Spirit Wings were gray.