Yet despite the agony, Snow had not hesitated. He had taken it all—for Frey.
Shaking, he staggered back to his feet, a hollow, blood-stained smile tugging at his lips.
"We’re dying, Frey... Sorry, but I don’t think there’s a way out of this. Hahaha..." Snow laughed weakly, lifting Frey once more, forcing his body to move, Void Stepping again into the distance.
"There’s no point. We can’t leave the island," Frey said with a faint, almost mocking smile, unconcerned with the agony ripping him apart.
He was right. Even if Snow Void Stepped to the farthest reaches, he’d only meet the island’s edge. Escape was impossible.
"I know... but I’d rather try than just sit here waiting for death."
Carrying Frey over his shoulder, Snow pressed on. But the oppressive aura at his back made it clear—running would never be enough.
"Maybe we could’ve survived if Dawn were here... With his Survivor’s ability, even Blattier wouldn’t be able to kill him," Frey whispered weakly from Snow’s shoulder, speaking of the companion they had left behind.
"Haha... Yeah. That would’ve been nice," Snow agreed, forcing himself to keep moving.
But finally, his body failed. He could go no farther. He knew Blattier stood behind him.
Snow froze for an instant. Then a gentle smile spread across his face.
"Sorry, Frey... and thank you, for everything. It’s been an honor to fight beside you—until the very end."
He whispered the words into Frey’s ear.
And the next moment, both their eyes darkened—when Blattier’s spear impaled them brutally, blood spilling in torrents.
The spear tore through Snow’s back, piercing everything in its path, driving straight through Frey as well.
Blattier lifted his spear slowly, and with it, both bodies rose, impaled and helpless.
"This is the end."
No more tricks. No more surprises.
"Only death."
With a sharp motion, he flung them aside, leaving gaping, bloody holes in their chests.
So simply, it ended. Both Frey and Snow defeated, powerless before the high priest who emerged victorious.
Blattier had won. And his great triumph... was only the beginning.
The dawn of a new era. The birth of a new Church. And there could be no better beginning.
In those fleeting moments of victory, Blattier found himself turning—drawn without knowing why—toward the golden tree.
It blazed brighter than ever, like a divine lantern lighting up the sky.
Its light swallowed the entire island, including Blattier, who stood frozen beneath its brilliance.
...
...
...
Far from the battlefield, in those final minutes of Blattier’s relentless pursuit of Snow and Frey...
A girl had been watching.
Uriel Platini.
Her body was twisted, marred by bloody symbols and punctured scars left by tubes. Limping, leaning against the wall for support, she dragged herself step by step—trying to reach a place where she could see the battle with her own eyes.
Uriel—normally so cheerful—now revealed a face twisted with exhaustion, pain, and despair.
Crushed beneath the weight of guilt and regret, she had torn her own beautiful features with her nails without realizing it, leaving behind a bloodied, pitiful visage.
The thought of ending her life had gnawed at her for the last few minutes. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it—not yet.
Not when Frey and Snow had suffered because of her. Not when she bore responsibility for the monstrous power the high priest now wielded.
Indirectly, Uriel had killed millions. She had helped give birth to this catastrophe that threatened to wipe them all out.
"They’re going to die because of me..." she whispered, standing at the crumbling edge of the great citadel upon which the World Tree still loomed.
From that vantage, she could see the battle unfold in the distance. Though, calling it a "battle" was generous—Frey and Snow could do little but flee in desperation, while Blattier hunted them down like prey.
Watching from afar, Uriel felt her broken heart sink deeper and deeper into darkness.
She had often wondered—why had Frey fought with such ferocity in his final duel against Blattier?
He surely had his reasons. But what Uriel remembered most vividly was the promise she had made him give her...
The promise that he would come to save her when the time came.
And that time had come.
Frey had never spoken of it aloud, but from the way he fought, it was clear he had taken that vow to heart.
"If only I had been braver back then... If only I had had the resolve to stay by his side... none of this would have happened."
Uriel collapsed slowly, unable to stand any longer. The endless rituals had drained her completely—especially the final sacrifice she had unwillingly contributed to.
Her helplessness only deepened the weight of guilt crushing her soul.
She regretted many things.
She regretted hiding her true feelings behind a false smile her entire life.
She regretted making Frey Starlight promise her something so heavy.
And most of all... she regretted not staying with him when the Church summoned her and Yurasha away.
The Saint had always been something sacred to the Church—the virgin who walked alongside the hero.
The Saint was believed to be a blessed vessel of the Lord of Light Himself, her presence always deemed essential.
Yet ever since the sacrifice of the First Hero, Kazis Valerion, the first Saint had vanished without a trace. Rumors abounded—some said she perished in war, others whispered she had fled and ended her life in solitude. But the truth was never known.
What the Church did still have, however, was her blood—kept preserved through the ages.
The blood of the first Saint contained a vast reservoir of holy power, often used for healing.
In time, it became the only remnant of her that remained. And so, to preserve their standing, the Church began its search for maidens—pure, untouched girls with a natural affinity for holy power—into whose veins they would inject that blood.
Thus, the Saint Candidates were born. Girls taken from their families, adopted into the Church, and remade into vessels.
The blood of the first Saint was not enough on its own, so it was diluted with the sacred waters drawn from the World Tree’s spring. The result created a new Saint each time.
But the experiments, the burden of such vast power, were crushing for children so young and innocent.
Even if a Saint emerged successfully, her body could never truly withstand the weight of that power, nor wield it properly.
None ever surpassed the SS+ rank since the first Saint. And most died before the age of thirty, their fragile bodies collapsing under the strain.
Yurasha had been the last of them, until her power was transferred into Uriel Platini—condemning her to the same fate.
"Yurasha... she was the one who taught me how to smile. How to face this world without showing my pain."