Regulus walked along a narrow path winding between sparse bushes. The air was cool, but the troubling thoughts in his head burned much hotter than he would have liked. Finally, he reached a hidden door — a massive steel slab embedded in the rock and concealed by thick branches. At first glance, it was impossible to notice.
"Stepped out for a ten-minute smoke break, they said," he muttered under his breath, brushing the branches aside and deftly turning a concealed mechanism. "Didn't even manage to light the pipe before heading back..."
The door responded with a heavy metallic creak. The dim light inside the corridor welcomed him with the warmth of lamps casting soft reflections on the wooden walls. The floor was rough stone, pleasantly cool underfoot.
As soon as Regulus crossed the threshold, he closed the door behind him and exhaled, as if shedding a heavy burden.
"Well, back here again," he muttered, glancing around.
His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it echoed dully off the walls.
The soft light provided some relaxation, but his thoughts wouldn't let him rest. He moved forward unhurriedly, his steps growing louder with each passing moment in the empty corridor.
"Interesting…" a thought flared up in his mind, seeming to push out everything else. "Is anyone even capable of defeating me with these powers?"
His golden eyes narrowed slightly, and his brows twitched faintly. Running a hand along his chin, Regulus continued pondering as he delved deeper into the corridor.
"If we're being honest, that other version of me lost purely out of stupidity. Dragging his harem along? Seriously? Ridiculous. There are no restrictions on pseudo-hearts. You could leave the hosts on another planet, or hide them in the desert. But no, he had to bring his wives to that city, Priestella... and died. It's almost laughable how absurdly Reinhard van Astrea and that Natsuki Subaru managed to destroy him."
The corner of his lips twitched into a faint, almost sinister smile. But as soon as the thought solidified, Regulus's face returned to its usual cold, detached expression.
"Reinhard van Astrea, also known as the Sword Saint…" He paused, resting a hand on the wall. "He's a monster. Another league entirely. Divine Protections… can anyone even compete with that? I certainly won't find enemies of his caliber here."
His face grew dark, and his gaze stretched into the distance, as if trying to perceive an invisible foe.
"Those Divine Protections… It feels like that guy is just… immortal. Dodges the first strike? And the second? And infinitely more? Poisons, diseases, even… death? All of it's a joke to him. And his list of protections seems to grow with every mention. Damn it. He must have a way of creating them."
He squinted slightly, recalling scenes from another life. How that other Regulus, his alternate self, had tried to kill Reinhard by slicing him in half.
And how the red-haired knight, completely unfazed, returned to life, mockingly declaring that he had been "just a little dead."
Reinhard achieved this thanks to the Divine Protection of the Phoenix, which allowed him to return from death.
Regulus ran a hand over his face, as if trying to erase these memories.
"It's almost funny to think about. That Reinhard grows stronger with every little thing: clear weather, storms, a field of flowers, dawn, dusk, being unarmed, even his own bleeding… all of it gives him an advantage, all of it enhances him thanks to the Divine Protections. And his attacks… several Divine Protections work on them too. The first strike lands. The second strike lands. The third, the fourth… infinity. He always strikes before his opponent. The whole world seems to work for him. That's not power. That's farce. That's something… beyond comprehension."
He sighed, the corner of his eye twitching as the final moments of his alternative "self" once again flashed in his mind.
Those phrases. Those grotesque monologues that seemed like mockery.
"And he killed you, didn't he?" Regulus muttered aloud, speaking more to the ghosts of the past than to himself. His voice echoed hollowly in the empty corridor.
He immersed himself in the last minutes of the other Regulus's life...
It can't be! It can't be! It can't be! What's happening? I don't understand anything. Why should I have to suffer through this?! Who do you think I am?! I am the Archbishop of Sin, "Greed," Regulus Cornias. I am the most perfect! The most self-sufficient!
"My existence is absolutely unshakable, both physically and spiritually! So why should I have to endure all this?!"
What a mockery!
"This isn't a joke. How can all these people accept such absurd injustice as normal?! Have they lost their minds?!"
This guy, this girl, this knight… they got cocky just because I showed a bit of mercy! If I had fought seriously, they would have been torn apart from the very beginning! Did they really think it was their own strength?!
"I hate interacting with people precisely because of such ridiculous delusions, which they shamelessly flaunt!"
Annoying, irritating, angry, disgusting, pathetic fools!
"I've always managed perfectly well. For many years, decades, over a hundred years, I was the most powerful and strongest Archbishop of Sin."
When I was first chosen by the Witch Factor and received this power, I killed my drunkard father, my eternally whining mother, and those filthy brothers of mine who were always eyeing my share.
Then I dealt with the villagers who looked down on me, the townsfolk who trapped me in that miserable village, and the incompetent rulers of the country who allowed such villages and towns to exist.
"I destroyed them all, rid myself of all of them, and finally found my own path! I didn't need anything."
Everything was just irritating.
"I was perfect."
I had no flaws.
"I needed nothing."
Those pesky scum, I needed nothing from them. But if they gave me something, it meant that outsiders — you — considered me incomplete, pathetic, in need of sympathy! I destroyed anyone who imposed unnecessary things on me!
"This world should be left with only those who accept me, perfect as I am, without saying anything to me. Everyone keeps butting in with their advice, damn it! No one has the right to pity me!"
No one has the right to make me feel pathetic! I won't allow it! I need nothing, I ask for nothing! My worthless drunkard father, who occasionally brought home gifts — to hell with you, die!
My mother, who constantly whined and talked about her suffering, as if that wasn't obvious — to hell with you, die! My disgusting brothers, who ogled my share but shared their food when I overturned my plate — to hell with you, die!
Stop being kind to me, you bastards!
Being kind means looking down on me, seeing me as beneath you! Those who look down on others are garbage, and those who look down on their own family are subhuman beings who deserve nothing but contempt!
They deserve death!
"I'm not at fault! I'm not to blame for anything! It's you who are at fault!"
You, you, you make me... me... pathetic. You pity me and leave me alone! You should feel what it's like to be the most pathetic creature in the world!
"There should only be those around me who don't pity me! All the reasons for pitying me should vanish from this world! I hear laughter."
They're looking at me. They're laughing at me. What's so funny about me? What are they laughing at?! All these smirking, chatty nobodies with not a shred of power!
Why should I have to suffer like this because of them?! Don't stand in my way! Don't interfere with me! Don't pity me! I'm not pathetic — you are! Weak, ignorant, yet "greedy!"
You, who have to grovel your whole lives to fill the emptiness within, are the ones who deserve pity, the truly greedy ones! I'm different! I'm not like that!
"I don't need anything. I, who need nothing, am above you, inferior ones! Don't pity me! In truth, you envy me, you're jealous, you admire me, but you can't reach me, so you just try to save face!"
Isn't that right? It is, isn't it?
"Wait, wait, wait! Stop! Don't look at me! Don't say my name!"
Don't talk about me! Not good, not bad! Don't pay attention to me! Leave me alone! If everyone were self-sufficient, our hearts wouldn't be trampled on, so why are you trying to interact?
We can't understand each other! You and I are different people! Risking something for the sake of benefit is illogical, irrational, wrong!
"You're all insane!"
If you calm down, you'll understand. Everyone except me is raving in a fever! Desiring someone is pointless, futile, meaningless!
All these words that you parrot like fools — love, romance, friendship, trust — are illusions! Reproduction is a disgusting process! I don't understand it. Why do it?
Even if you call it beautiful words — spouse, child, family — they're still other beings! What do I care if they're alive or dead? If they're alive and I die, I cease to exist. If they die and I live, I continue to exist. Love and romance don't unite people. A person is fundamentally alone.
I chose wives just so I wouldn't stand out among these fools who value illusions. I picked beautiful women because being despised by others is stupid.
I chose only virgins because there's nothing dumber than being betrayed.
"What else do you want from me? Don't spout nonsense! You've limited me so much already, and you still demand more?! After all that?!"
After I've met you halfway so many times?! You still make demands of me?!
"What do I have to do to make you stop pitying me?! The most pathetic in the world?!"
"I don't deserve to be called that by this vulgar woman obsessed with base 'greed' and the desire to unite with her beloved!"
Reinhard van Astrea, the embodiment of might and ruthless justice, delivered a crushing blow to Regulus Cornias, the Archbishop of Greed.
The force of the strike sent Regulus's body soaring into the night sky, as though hurled by a mighty wind.
When the steel fist of the Sword Saint struck his body, Regulus activated his ability — Lion's Heart.
By halting the beating of his heart, he entered a state of absolute invulnerability.
But despite the strike causing him no direct harm, the consequences were palpable.
The pseudo-hearts were destroyed, and as a result, with each activation of the ability, he felt immense pain.
"Kkh… kh…" Regulus gasped, coughing as though expelling hatred instead of blood.
Pain tormented him, his vision blurred, and a single thought pulsated in his mind:
"This is a joke…"
He clenched his teeth in helpless frustration, trying to regain clarity, while his body, propelled by incredible speed, continued to soar above the city.
From above, he saw Priestella, its water canals and plazas. The city seemed like an enchanting illusion, but now it was only a crushing reminder for him.
Regulus remembered how his heart had once leapt with joy — when the Gospel of the Witch's Cult mentioned the opportunity to fill the vacancy of the "absent wife."
At the time, he had been pleased. But now, all of it seemed like dust, swept away in an instant.
"Ahhh!" his scream was cut short as another attack struck him from behind.
It was as though a giant invisible foot stomped down on him from above, pinning him in place.
His flight came to an abrupt halt, his body freezing in midair.
"If this were a fair duel…" a voice, calm yet laced with overwhelming power, echoed. Regulus recognized that voice instantly. "I would have sheathed my sword as soon as my opponent lost the will to fight."
It was Reinhard. His curse. His death.
"You damn monster!" Regulus croaked, his words choked by fear and rage.
"Yes, perhaps," Reinhard replied calmly. "I am a monster who hunts monsters. And your time has come."
Reinhard lowered his hand like a sword directly toward the center of Regulus's back.
The strike, like a mark of retribution, sent his body hurtling downward, crashing into the ground with the force of a meteor.
Regulus, like a fragment of a shattered star, smashed through the pavement, breaking stone, soil, and rock.
His fall turned into a frenzied drilling; the earth tore itself apart before his body.
Deeper. Deeper.
As though the earth itself refused to hold him. And suddenly, an impenetrable, all-consuming terror seized Regulus.
"What if the earth has an end? What if I break through every last layer and find myself beyond the world? The Great Waterfall, where the waters fall endlessly… That's the end."
"No…" his breath faltered.
When he released the ability, his previously halted heart began to beat again, and the laws of physics returned with unrelenting force.
"G-ghah!" he choked on blood and dirt as his mangled body continued to tear through the earth.
Bones were shattered, internal organs turned into pulp.
His once-snow-white hair became a filthy mess, matted with blood.
His skin tore, muscles twisted outward.
The most horrifying part was that, even in this state, he remained alive.
His consciousness clung to life like a cornered beast.
"Just don't you dare… don't you dare rejoice… in my death, Emilia," he thought, gritting his teeth.
The thought of the one he despised celebrating his demise filled him with a revulsion akin to the agony tormenting his body.
Mud and stones filled his mouth, and he choked. In a panic, he activated Lion's Heart again to avoid death.
But it only delayed the inevitable. He choked.
Activated Lion's Heart again.
Choked.
And activated it once more.
Regulus opened his mouth. Water and dirt gushed in. As they filled his lungs and insides, Regulus screamed. A silent scream.
"Damn it," flitted through his dying consciousness as his lungs filled with mud and water.
He realized that no one would remember him except as a terrifying nightmare. No one would mourn him, no one would grieve. Even the memories of him as a nightmare would soon fade away.
Loneliness and hatred were his only companions.
Regulus Corneas, who had smashed through the pavement and disappeared underground.
Water from the city's plumbing system poured into the grave he had dug for himself. No one knew how deep he had gone.
But considering the limits of his ability, he likely didn't pass through the earth and emerge on the other side.
Most likely, somewhere deep underground, his ability deactivated, and he was crushed. Even if he wasn't crushed, the water would ensure he never surfaced.
The villain, drunk on his power, drowned in response to the destruction of the city.
Even those who should have sought vengeance against him immediately forgot about his existence.
"A truly horrific death for a truly horrible person," Regulus thought, staring into the void. "And yet… that wasn't me. A completely different person. Personality is determined by memories, and he and I have walked different paths, harbored different thoughts. Even if we were born as the same person, our lives were entirely different."
He slowly ran his hand along his chin, as if evaluating his own thoughts.
"This truth is even confirmed by the Archbishop of Gluttony," the thought crossed his mind. "His Witch Factor allowed him to erase people's memories… and their names. When a name disappeared, the person remained alive, and their memories stayed intact… but people's memories of them vanished. Even objects associated with them, like letters and belongings, would disappear. But if he consumed their memories, people remembered the person, but that person became a blank slate, losing the essence of who they were, losing their memories…"
Taking a deep breath, Regulus stepped forward, nearing the conference hall door.
Suddenly, the face of Natsuki Subaru — the boy who had stood alongside Reinhard at that fateful moment — came to mind.
"A truly strange guy," he noted with a crooked grin. "Unremarkable. No power, no fame, no extraordinary authority… only the Authority of Sloth, which he gained by killing the Archbishop of Sloth. And even his authority was much weaker than that of that fanatic, Petelgeuse Romanee-Conti."
Regulus closed his eyes, recalling.
"His Invisible Hand…" he continued to muse. "So weak compared to Petelgeuse's. It could turn intangible, but he could summon only one hand, and even using it caused him pain… since he wasn't compatible. He wasn't slothful. Petelgeuse probably went insane because of incompatibility, since he wasn't lazy either — he was always busy, the most hardworking Archbishop in the entire cult. And yet, even with that pathetic gift, this youth managed to unravel the secret of Lion's Heart. He paved the way for Reinhard's fatal strike… though, if you think about it, he only used it at the end."
The corners of Regulus's lips twitched in a faint smile.
"I suppose I should thank him. If not for him, the filthy, exhausted Reinhard would have likely left the battlefield, admitting he couldn't kill me. He would have focused on evacuating the city, leaving me alone. And then…" Regulus touched his chest, where his heart beat. "I wouldn't have received the Authority of Greed. Wouldn't have gained the memories and power of that Regulus."
Regulus pushed the door open deliberately and entered the hall. His face remained unreadable, but irritation flickered somewhere deep inside him.
Around the large table sat five others, but his gaze immediately fell on one of them — Mirzam.
A young girl of about eighteen or nineteen, her perfectly trimmed black hair framed her face beautifully. One of her eyes was a bright pink color, while the other was concealed beneath an elegant patch. Even her eyebrows matched the pink hue of her visible eye, lending her a peculiar, refined charm.
She wore a white shirt under a black blazer, with a pink plaid tie and a short skirt to match. Her playful, slightly provocative image was completed by her smirk and narrowed eyes.
"Oh, so you've finally deigned to return!" Her voice, dripping with mockery, struck his ears even before he could take his seat. Mirzam crossed her arms over her chest, as if to emphasize that he owed her an explanation, and leaned forward slightly, as though studying him. "You know, your smoke break seemed suspiciously long. Don't you think? You usually smoke for five minutes tops, but you were gone for ten this time!"
A light blush colored her cheeks, but instead of stopping there, she grew even more animated, wiping away an imaginary tear with a theatrical gesture.
"Or maybe… you weren't smoking at all?" Her eyes suddenly widened, her voice trembling as though she had uncovered the mystery of the century. "Were you, perhaps, entertaining some beauty? How scandalous!" She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Come on, spill it. What was her size? Bust, hips, maybe waist?" She suddenly straightened up, pressing a hand to her mouth. "You pervert!"
She froze in anticipation, clearly enjoying the confusion on his face, like a predator circling its prey.
"Well?!" Mirzam finally grinned.
"I'm waiting for a detailed description," she added.
Regulus exhaled deeply, his expression a mix of exhaustion and restraint, while the corners of his lips barely twitched into a smile.
He knew these antics of hers inside and out. Mirzam was a master of teasing innuendo — the moment he was late by even a few minutes, she'd start playing detective, accusing him of spending time with some woman.
Sometimes, her intonations were so skillfully crafted that even Regulus, who was well-acquainted with her habits, would momentarily wonder: was this a joke or a veiled accusation?
"Yeah, sure," he sighed, waving her off without even looking at her, and sank into a chair. "Managed to satisfy five gorgeous ladies on the run."
"You scoundrel!" she exclaimed with feigned shock, covering her mouth theatrically and leaning back as if the revelation had struck her like lightning. "At least take me along next time, idiot!"
She shot him a sly glance from beneath her lashes, as if testing his reaction.
"Right, right," Regulus muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, though the corners of his lips twitched again. "Next time, I'll bring you along to give advice."
"Deal!" Mirzam grinned, winking.
Regulus turned his head to the right, where Chelsea sat. Her long, light-red hair fell softly over her shoulders, her pink eyes sparkling mischievously, and on her head sat accessories resembling full-sized wireless headphones.
Her appearance was especially provocative, even compared to Mirzam.
She wore a long-sleeved white shirt with a collar tied with a red ribbon, over which she had a black vest. Her outfit was completed by a plaid skirt and black leather boots that stopped just below the knee.
A lollipop in her mouth served as her signature accessory. She lazily pulled it out just long enough to speak:
"Oh dear, it looks like our Reg isn't doing so hot," she said with a smirk, gesturing toward him. "Are you okay? You look... tired, or maybe you smoked too much."
Regulus exhaled heavily, glancing at her.
Chelsea was the one he called "sister." Of course, she wasn't a biological sister, nor even an adoptive one.
They had met in the Oarburg clan and bonded over their similarities.
At some point, Regulus decided to call her his "sister."
She possessed an ability granted by her Teigu: the power to transform into any living creature. Chelsea could become anything — from a tiny bird to Regulus himself. But that wasn't all.
She was an incredible actor, so talented that she could perfectly mimic not only someone's appearance but also their behavior, mannerisms, and personality.
Regulus, naturally, was also a skilled actor; he had a talent for playing any role, from an innocent boy to a cold-blooded killer, depending on the situation. This shared trait brought them closer.
"Why do I look bad? I'm fine," he grumbled. "You're like Capella on a budget," he muttered almost inaudibly.
"What did you just say?" Chelsea turned sharply toward him, though her tone was more lazy than threatening.
"Nothing, nothing…" Regulus waved her off, turning his head away.
The red-haired girl gave him a puzzled look before turning away, settling into a more comfortable position.
The thought of Capella Emerada Lugunica, the Archbishop of Lust, flickered through his mind for a moment. Her Authority granted her a horrifying ability.
She could alter her body in any way: growing wings, transforming into a dragon, changing her shape at will. Her regeneration was so powerful that even a crushed heart and severed head couldn't kill her.
But the most terrifying thing was her ability to transform other people. With a single touch, she turned them into giant insects, animals, or — worst of all — formless lumps of flesh.
These creatures remained alive, fully retaining their consciousness, which made their existence a never-ending nightmare.
Potentially, her abilities could heal the most severe injuries and diseases, free people from addiction to tobacco, alcohol, or even drugs, and even regrow limbs.
But she never used them for benevolent purposes. Her satisfaction came solely from the suffering of others.
Regulus couldn't help but recall how his alternate self, alongside Capella, had obliterated some noble's convoy from the kingdom of Lugunica.
In the inky darkness of the forest, where only faint moonlight broke through the canopy, a convoy of carriages and wagons sped down winding roads, as if fate itself was urging them forward.
The forest trembled with the growls of their unusual "horses"—creatures resembling dragons, known as ground dragons. They were roughly the size of a horse, but far more impressive.
These creatures were humanity's pride, able to run faster and tire less than any horse, ripping through the terrain at speeds exceeding a hundred kilometers per hour.
But their sprint came to an abrupt halt. Standing in the convoy's path, as though emerging from the luminous shadows, was a man who seemed to embody the color white.
His figure was eerily serene, his hair gleaming with moonlit whiteness, and his half-lidded eyes radiated something that sent a chill through the soul.
"What the hell?!" raced through the mind of the lead driver, but the words never left his lips.
He reached for the reins, attempting to halt the dragons, but it was too late. The man made only a slight movement, narrowing his brow, and the world around the driver exploded into chaos.
His heart froze, then fell silent forever.
With tremendous force, an invisible strike tore through the air, scattering the convoy like toy constructions. The piercing screech of metal, the groans of men, and the terrified roars of dragons filled the forest.
In an instant, only one carriage and a lone wagon remained intact. All others had been obliterated, their occupants torn to shreds, their dragons reduced to lifeless heaps.
He had done all this with nothing more than a furrowed brow.
The surviving guards leapt from the wagon. Swords and bows trembled in their hands as the air thickened with terror.
The men cautiously advanced toward the immobile stranger.
"Who the hell are you?" One guard's voice cracked but retained a shred of defiance.
The man slowly opened his eyes. There was no anger, no joy—only cold disdain for human insignificance. His lips twisted into a faint smile.
"Ah, I see your confusion," his voice was calm, almost lazy. Hands clasped behind his back, his posture was relaxed, yet he exuded a pressure so immense it felt as though nature itself was bowing before him. "You have no idea who I am. But I know exactly who you are. Guards of that vile bureaucrat Ankeria, aren't you?" His gaze suddenly flared with fire. "How impolite to demand someone's name without introducing yourselves! That, you see, is a violation of my rights!"
He barely shifted his stance, and the stone beneath his foot vanished. In the same instant, the head of the guard who had spoken exploded into a gruesome spray of blood. The others froze in terror, their hands trembling, their hearts nearly stopping.
"What the hell is going on?!" a bowman gasped.
Suddenly, laughter erupted from somewhere behind the man—a light, ringing sound that echoed like a song but brimmed with madness. From the shadows of the trees emerged a girl.
She was petite, with golden hair adorned by a crimson rose.
Her outfit was provocative and almost mocking: a violet bikini top, short black shorts, and stockings. She appeared both innocent and monstrous at once.
"So much pathetic meat here," she sang with a chilling grin, fixing her gaze on the surviving guards. "I am Capella Emerada Lugunica, Archbishop of Sin, embodying Lust!"
The guards froze. Her name struck them like a bolt of lightning, shattering the tense silence.
"Lugunica?" someone whispered.
It couldn't be. Lugunica was the surname of the royal family, long erased from history.
"And I," came the man's voice, "am the Archbishop of Sin, embodying Greed. Regulus Cornias."
The men's eyes widened in horror. Two Archbishops? In one place? It was impossible. It was…
"You're kidding me!" the bowman shouted, drawing his string in desperation.
He loosed an arrow at Regulus. It struck his forehead.
However, as soon as the arrow's tip touched Regulus, it vanished—disintegrated as if it had never existed. The remaining shaft fell harmlessly to the ground.
Lion's Heart has two states: in one, Regulus can be touched without consequences, while in the other, any contact with him results in annihilation.
When his body is in the first state, any contact immediately freezes time for that object, preventing destruction. But when in the second state, touching him causes objects to be erased as if ripped from the fabric of reality.
Regulus's hand moved almost imperceptibly, and two guards collapsed: one was split cleanly in half, while the other's calves were shredded into ribbons.
Capella cackled gleefully. Her arm transformed into a monstrous claw covered in black fur. With the ease of a predator, she tore through the remaining soldiers, swinging the claw as if playing.
"You're all so pathetic… Just sacks of meat," her voice was soft, but the madness within it silenced even the forest. "All boys are fools, girls are whores, and humanity is a complete joke."
She crouched over a wounded soldier, her voice turning syrupy yet somehow even more terrifying.
"Tell me, do you love someone? Is there someone precious to you? Or have you just been jerking off to your dreams?" She laughed louder. "But you know, that's not love! Would you still love her if I turned her into a fly? No? Then it's just dirty lust!"
Capella bit into her own wrist, and purple blood began to flow. She allowed the drops to seep into the soldier's wound. The man screamed in agony, writhing on the ground.
His veins turned black.
"Let's see what I can turn you into," she said softly, smiling. "You'll become a fly…" She dragged out the words, pausing between syllables. "A fly!"
Regulus sighed heavily, slumping slightly as he sank deeper into his thoughts.
"Although that comparison is a bit crude. Capella's abilities and Chelsea's Teigu give their users completely different capabilities," he muttered to himself, reconsidering his earlier words. "But who cares? Calling her 'Capella Lite' is still amusing. Nobody knows who she really is anyway."
He tapped his fingers against the table lightly, as though the sound might ground him in reality.
"Hey, is everyone gathered already, or am I supposed to sit here like a fool waiting for you all to acknowledge this blonde guy?" a sharp, irritated voice rang out.
The voice was female, so cutting it seemed to tear through the atmosphere.
Regulus flinched at the unexpected sound and turned toward the speaker.
He immediately noticed her—the woman with long pink hair, which contrasted sharply with her stern gaze.
Her bright pink eyes drilled into the room with cold confidence.
She was tall—taller than the Archbishop himself—which added an air of majesty to her, despite her blunt demeanor.
She wore form-fitting clothes that accentuated her figure far too well. Regulus couldn't help but notice how she sat, her legs stretched out, her skintight black pants and boots emphasizing every curve.
His gaze lingered briefly on her ample chest, but as soon as he realized, he quickly looked away.
Her name was Difda. She sat with an air of arrogance, as though ready to punish anyone for the slightest disrespect at any moment.
Behind her rested a massive scythe, the kind of weapon she always carried with her.
"Can't control those filthy thoughts of yours again, huh?" Mirzam teased with a sly smirk, narrowing her eyes.
Her tone seemed playful, but there was a subtle undertone of tension that immediately drew attention.
Difda instantly tensed, her eyes narrowing further, and the veins on her temple began to throb as her inner irritation became visible.
"Calm down, Difda," came a calm, confident male voice, its tone so assured that it left no room for doubt.
Regulus turned his gaze toward the person who had spoken—the leader of their group. The man sat at the center of the table.
He looked young, yet his composed posture radiated a maturity that could only come from experiencing countless conflicts. His presence was steady, unshakable, as if no external force could rattle him.
His attire was simple but immaculate—black boots, gray trousers with a black belt, and a black sweater under a beige coat. The only striking detail was a large green bow tied at his neck.
His hair was brown, slightly messy, with locks sticking out in different directions.
His eyes were deep and green, like a lush forest, observing everything around him with a thoughtful, almost analytical gaze.
This man was Nemus. He was the leader of their team, and the team bore the name "Hyades."
Difda let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she reluctantly complied with his authority.
The woman continued to sit with an air of arrogance, her legs still stretched out across the table, defying all principles of proper etiquette. It was as though she knew her position in the group wasn't in question, regardless of her behavior.
"Would be nice to just lie on the couch and read manga right now," Mirzam thought, the idea flashing briefly through her mind.