The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 390: Hellfire (2)

Aimier Grand Cathedral, confessional.

The Saintess, having just finished praying to the Goddess, rose gracefully, pushed open the door, and was about to leave.

But when the candle in the hands of the great nun outside happened to cast its light upon her flawless, holy cheek, that perfectly drawn smile suddenly stalled for a brief instant.

"Is sothing the matter, Your Highness the Saintess?" Great Nun Lin asked.

"A child... has left."

The smile dispersed, replaced by a grief that could not be concealed.

"A child..."

Lin froze for a mont before realizing that what the Saintess ant were those young, inexperienced candidates.

So a sacrifice had appeared after all?

The candlelight flickered. Cradling it in her palms, Lin bowed respectfully.

"Please restrain your sorrow, Your Highness. A holy soul will ultimately return to the embrace of the Goddess."

"Don’t worry, Lin. I’m not so fragile as that. I have long prepared myself for such things."

The Saintess turned her wrist. A crystal appeared in her palm. The crystal that had once been limpid and flawless was now covered in cracks, as if it would shatter in the very next mont.

"So it was... Freya?"

Looking at the crystal, the Saintess recalled that child whose bearing and smile were remarkably close to the ‘self’ who was Saintess.

To outsiders, her aura seed carved from the sa mold as the Saintess, and precisely because of this, many had favored that girl even before the ritual began, believing she would most likely be the next Saintess.

Unfortunately, she was the first to depart.

"Freya... I rember that was the child Your Highness liked a little less, wasn’t it?"

Lin still rembered: when Freya arrived in the Holy City, the Saintess refused the proposal to go welco her, clearly expressing dislike for that girl.

"...I didn’t ‘like that child a little less.’"

The Saintess said:

"She was the one I disliked the most—among all the children, the one I disliked most."

"Your Highness?"

Even the ever-cool Lin was taken aback. She hadn’t expected the Saintess to say such a thing at the very mont that child returned to the Goddess’s embrace.

So blunt. So ill-tid.

But the Saintess rely looked into Lin’s eyes and continued:

"Do you know why I disliked her most?"

"Forgive . I cannot peer into Your Highness’s heart, so I do not know."

"Because..."

Under the glow of the candle, the Saintess saw herself within Lin’s pupils.

That self who was holy, elegant, composed, gentle—the self who was Saintess.

"A fake like , wrapped in disguise—upon encountering the genuine article, would of course feel ashad, wouldn’t I?" The Saintess smiled at herself, self-mocking.

"...Then Your Highness believes that Miss Freya was the most qualified to beco Saintess?" Lin asked in shock.

"No. Quite the opposite. In my eyes, she—like Liya—is unsuitable."

"Why?"

Lin felt completely unable to keep up with Her Highness’s thoughts.

"Because..."

The Saintess turned her head. Through the window she gazed at the world shrouded in night.

"They are both far too gentle..."

She raised her hand, as if to chase that faint, ethereal starlight:

"But the gentle find it very hard to look straight at the darkness of this world..."

...

...

"Miss Freya..."

After watching everything that had happened on the other side through the mirror, a heavy emotion spread between Liya and Muen.

"Miss Freya actually... did that."

Liya’s eyes reddened. Anyone who saw that scene would inevitably feel moved to pity and sympathy for that girl who always smiled, always was gentle, and always chased after the one she loved.

"So I really... only got it half right?"

Muen forced a bitter smile. It felt like a great stone pressed upon his chest—heavy, suffocating.

Freya’s anomalies had long given rise to all sorts of guesses in his mind.

But he hadn’t expected the result to truly be... the third possibility he had originally considered least likely.

Freya was a good person.

A thoroughgoing good person.

She had never believed in an Evil God, and she had never truly hard anyone.

She was rely a girl in pursuit of love.

That was not corrupted love, not twisted love.

It was—like the golden orchid she loved—subtle, delicate, yet fragrant and resilient: true love.

Love like that would not be controlled by the Love God.

"Perhaps Miss Freya never truly traded with the Love God at all."

Recalling the scenes from monts ago, Liya wiped the tears at the corners of her eyes and said softly:

"She only tried to grasp at the last straw—but when she realized the straw was a false lie, she imdiately chose the most tragically resolute path."

From the beginning, Freya had extracted her own soul and stored it in a dead object like the Prisoner. She could not have failed to foresee this outco.

Yet she still threw herself forward without hesitation.

"All right."

Muen patted Liya’s shoulder, comforting her. "At least now, her soul and his can truly be together forever, without being defiled by an Evil God, right?"

"Mm."

"Then we shouldn’t be grieving. Now isn’t the ti for grief."

Muen rose and turned to look at the pitch-black cave.

"Freya has already told us where we should go. We don’t need to hesitate anymore. Let’s move."

"Mm."

Liya sniffed with her little jade nose, nodded hard, and grasped the hand Muen held out.

Muen pulled Liya up—yet suddenly, Liya realized that the gentle force from before had abruptly doubled.

She was yanked off balance into Muen’s arms.

"Eh? Muen?"

"Hold tight!"

Muen’s voice was heavy. He crushed Liya into his embrace. In an instant the world spun; a gale roared up; everything in front of their eyes beca leaping lights and shadows.

By reflex Liya wrapped her arms around him. She felt the heat at Muen’s back and—and not far away, a violent surge of magical power.

Blazing firelight lit the sky, outshining the moon, and with heat hot enough to turn steel to liquid, it carried an icy killing intent.

The platform beneath their feet shattered in an instant. Amid the billowing dust, they dodged the ambush by a hair’s breadth, leaving them both a bit dust-streaked. Clinging to the rock face, Muen stared grimly into the distance.

"As expected—Freya knew we were watching her. So of what she said was ant for us."

Upon a hill made not of twisted flesh but of true soil and stone, countless flowers began to bloom in succession.

They were not golden orchids, but a multitude of unknown kinds—varietals in every color, dazzlingly bright.

Like a sea of blossoms spreading open.

"You’re the second hidden Evil God follower, aren’t you," Muen said in a low voice.

On the near-vertical flower-strewn rock ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) wall, a figure stood straight and walked gracefully forward, as if gravity did not exist.

She was covered head to toe in gorgeous blooms. Her movents were eerie. Only when the flowers parted did half of a pretty, alluring face appear.

Phil.

"No..."

Muen suddenly closed his eyes and drew a deep breath; his chest rose and fell hard.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze passed directly over Phil and fell behind her.

"The real heretic is you..."

Muen looked at that figure and, word by word, said coldly:

"Ailag!"