Staring at the withered hand wreathed in those seductive, demonic flames, the maid’s gaze remained calm.

She raised her right hand—the one gripping the dagger—and placed it before the skeletal hand.

Its bony fingers slowly curled inward, gradually closing around her wrist.

Ssshhhhh...

The infernal flames leapt higher, and the stench of scorched flesh filled the room.

The maid's face turned pale. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She looked like she was enduring an unbearable pain.

But in her eyes—

There was fervor.

The kind of fervor only seen in a true believer witnessing a miracle.

Moments later, the withered hand released her wrist and withdrew back into the black, swirling vortex.

The oppressive, otherworldly aura vanished, as if it had never been there to begin with.

Yet the unholy flames remained—still burning on the maid’s right hand, engulfing the dagger as well.

“A cult priestess?”

Celicia’s voice returned to the world, carrying with it a fury too vast to name.

“You sewer rats still dare show yourselves in front of me?”

“Rats? To a noble princess like you, yes—we’re nothing more than vermin.”

The maid lifted her eyes. Reflected in their cold surface was the flicker of flame and Celicia’s pale, beautiful face.

She sneered.

“But, Your Highness...

You're about to be killed by one of those lowly rats.”

The maid vanished—

—And reappeared directly in front of Celicia.

The flaming dagger thrust forward from a wicked angle, mercilessly targeting Celicia’s heart.

“Tch, dream on!”

Celicia let out a cold snort. An even more terrifying chill erupted from her slender frame, and everything around her was shredded by frost and storm in an instant.

But only for an instant.

It wasn't enough to stop the maid, who was already close enough to strike. The sudden burst of cold only managed to slightly deflect her dagger.

Because the next moment—

That frost aura vanished.

No buildup. No warning. No transition.

It just disappeared.

Celicia froze for a moment, stunned. Then she swiftly turned her gaze to the flames burning on the maid’s right hand.

“So it really is a power designed to counter mine...”

Celicia’s ice wasn’t mere magic—it was divine. A blessing from a goddess.

It wasn't frost—it was a rule.

A rule that could freeze all things.

Even flames.

Under normal circumstances, she could freeze even these.

But right now, her powers weren’t responding.

She couldn’t even conjure a basic ice blade.

Because a different law, one that directly countered her own, was burning in those infernal flames on the maid’s hand and dagger.

“But do you really think that alone can kill me?”

Celicia quickly regained her composure.

Her strength wasn’t just divine favor.

Before the maid could strike again, Celicia suddenly stepped in. She didn’t retreat—she advanced.

Her slim fingers pressed together into a palm strike, internal energy swirling with a sharp, icy breath.

She drove her hand straight into the maid’s chest!

“Tch. I almost forgot—Her Highness is also no slouch at martial arts.

But, alas...”

The maid didn’t dodge. She met the blow head-on.

Their auras clashed—ice versus flame—in a brief deadlock.

The intense pressure from the clash sent the maid’s neatly trimmed bob fluttering in the wind.

Her expression never changed.

“Alas, because you usually rely on your ice sword, and specialize in swordsmanship, you didn’t bother carrying a normal sword for self-defense.

And thanks to your overconfidence, you didn’t see the need to wear a single defensive magic tool.”

“!”

Celicia remained calm. But deep in her eyes, something flickered—subtle, but there.

“Which means—”

Suddenly, the maid’s aura reversed—her internal force pulled instead of pushing, locking Celicia’s palm in place.

Taking Celicia’s full strike had wounded her badly—but it also left Celicia with no escape.

“Which means, yes...

I can kill you.”

Her right hand was already raised.

She reversed her grip on the dagger, aimed directly at Celicia’s vitals.

Everything about the angle, force, and timing was calculated for one purpose:

A single, fatal blow.

The reaper raised her scythe.

This time—there would be no miracle.

****

“What ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) the hell am I even thinking?”

Curled in the corner of the room, Muen suddenly slapped himself hard across the face.

He had to snap out of it. Out of those seductive, selfish thoughts that should never have taken root in the first place.

He couldn’t believe it.

He’d just been thinking...

That maybe it’d be better if Celicia died.

That if that assassin actually killed her—

His problems would be solved.

“Yeah... If Celicia dies, no one would pursue the whole ‘assaulted the princess’ thing.

I’d get to live, at least for now...”

“But after doing that to such a pure girl... how the hell can I sit here and wish for her death?”

“What kind of ultimate-grade, face-lacking, rotten scumbag am I?

Celicia... she didn’t do anything wrong!”

Muen slammed a fist into the floor. The searing pain helped clear his head.

And with that came the rising tide of guilt.

Because from beginning to end—

Celicia had been innocent.

She hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

She was only in this room because of his cowardice.

Only drugged because of his vile scheming.

Only stripped of her purity because of his idiocy.

And now, she might die—

Because he let the timeline deviate.

Because he was careless.

Because he made one misstep too many.

She didn’t deserve this.

She deserved the story she was supposed to have—

To meet someone she loved.

To live a happy life.

She wasn’t supposed to die here.

“No... I can’t just watch her die.

I have to help her!”

Muen clenched both fists, a hint of resolve rising in his eyes.

But the moment he raised his head and looked at the battle unfolding before him—

That resolve vanished.

“How... am I even supposed to help?”

He couldn’t even follow the assassin’s movements.

He had no divine blessings.

He recognized that ritual—that [prayer]—from the original novel.

A dark rite used by cult priests to draw power from forbidden gods.

That wasn’t a power someone like him was even supposed to see yet.

He was the pampered son of a duke.

A disposable yellow-haired villain.

A stepping stone for the protagonist.

He was just a first-year at Saint Maria Magic Academy.

And he’d spent most of that year slacking off.

The only spell he could remember was a useless lighting charm.

He couldn't help Celicia.

“Maybe...

Maybe not interfering is the best way I can help her?”

Like those overly helpful drama heroines who mess everything up with good intentions—

Maybe it was better to just not get in the way.

“Celicia’s going to win. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

She will.

She’s strong. She doesn’t need me.”

Muen mumbled under his breath, like he was trying to convince himself.

****

Click.

A crisp sound echoed behind him.

Like a door unlocking.

“It’s almost over now.

You may leave, Muen Campbell.”

That same voice as before—

Faint. Weak.

But unmistakably near his ear.