Oliver’s gaze was fixed intently on the broad knight’s sword he wielded with practiced precision. As one of the finest knights, maintaining perfect synergy with his weapon was essential.

A woman sat gracefully on a bench in the garden, her slender form an image of elegance. If it weren’t for her ghastly appearance, which rivaled that of a demon, her presence would have seamlessly blended with the serene surroundings.

Oliver, slightly winded from his morning practice, had a thin veil of white mist rising from his body. He cast a sidelong glance at Talia, who looked as lifeless as a marionette, and sheathed his sword. Using a dry towel, he wiped the sweat from his body with a practiced ease.

“Your Majesty Elijah,” Oliver addressed the figure respectfully.

Elijah, a middle-aged man with an unremarkable yet resolute face, gave a slight nod to Oliver before his gaze shifted to Talia.

“She hasn’t spoken a word, and the divination spell seems ineffective on her,” Oliver remarked, unable to contain his concern.

“It no longer matters,” Elijah said with a cold detachment. “I sense the demon’s aura growing stronger. It will soon make a mistake. Let’s confine this wicked witch.”

“Understood.”

Oliver’s gaze lingered on Talia with a trace of pity. He had learned about her plight and had always seen her as a pitiable woman ensnared by a demon’s malevolent influence.

A figure hurried toward them, clad in a white long robe, cape, and square hat—the regalia of a high priest.

The Grand Archbishop of the Lor Kingdom bowed respectfully to them both. “Esteemed Your Majesties, the King requests your presence.”

Oliver frowned. “If it’s another banquet, please apologize to the King on my behalf and say I am unwell.”

It would be a jest for a grand knight to feign illness, but Oliver was eager to avoid the tedious and disingenuous noble gatherings.

As the Grand Knight of the Order of Light, Oliver’s status in the church was second only to the Pope and the Saintess. Since his arrival in this remote kingdom, he had been warmly welcomed by the royal family.

While tolerable on occasion, the persistent presence of pompous nobles was increasingly tiresome.

The Grand Archbishop quickly clarified, “It’s not a banquet. It seems that Princess Sophia, the Flower of the Kingdom who had been missing, has returned. The King wishes for you to conduct the baptismal ceremony.”

Princess Sophia, with skin as white as snow, hair as black as ebony, and lips as red as blood, a remarkably beautiful princess?

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Oliver’s curiosity was piqued. He was eager to see this princess and was about to agree when Elijah’s expression suddenly changed. He drew out a crystal ball enveloped in black mist and said urgently, “The demon is nearby.”

With the crystal ball in hand, Elijah dashed out of the garden. “Oliver, hurry!”

Oliver’s expression hardened. “Please leave the baptism to the Grand Archbishop. Don’t forget to imprison the witch.”

Oliver followed Elijah, vanishing in an instant.

The Grand Archbishop, clearly taken aback, surveyed the empty garden, his face paling.

Where did the witch go?

Karlo escorted Sophia beyond the kingdom’s borders and, following Karapos’s guidance, journeyed further afield.

According to Karapos’s memory, the princess cursed into a hundred-year slumber was in another kingdom.

Karlo, eager to ensure the sleeping beauty did not meet an untimely end, unfurled his demon wings and soared through the sky with Karapos in tow.

Karlo’s flight was swift. With a mere flap of his expansive wings, he covered great distances. After three days, Karlo arrived in the kingdom known as Pyracantha.

Pyracantha was considerably smaller than Lor. Its royal city was scarcely larger than a small town, and the palace was merely a modest castle overgrown with vines and thorns.

Karlo landed, retracting his wings, and dropped Karapos onto the ground. Karapos, having endured three days of airborne travel, immediately began to cough violently, suffering from the ordeal.

“Master, it’s right here,” Karapos pointed to the castle’s spire, her eyes gleaming. “She is there. I can sense her presence.”

“Then let’s proceed.” Karlo’s gaze was fixed eagerly on the castle’s highest tower.

The palace’s defenses were virtually non-existent. Karlo observed the captain of the guards engaged with a maid, a sentry napping at his post, and a cook surreptitiously pocketing silver utensils.

It was a kingdom in decay, slowly turning to dust with time.

Karlo flew to the top of the castle, with Karapos floating beside him. Having learned her lesson, she had cast a levitation spell on herself.

“Right inside,” Karapos whispered.

Karlo detected signs of life in the shadowy upper floor.

As he prepared to enter, he saw experience points rising in his mind, realizing that the impatient Sophia had begun to stir.

Without hesitation, Karlo stepped into the attic, guided by the moonlight.

“Who are you?!” A middle-aged woman shrieked, scrambling to hide by the bed. “Who are you?”

Karlo scrutinized her by moonlight. Despite her wrinkles, her face remained relatively refined and attractive, not resembling an old woman of two hundred years.

Yet, the burning demon tattoo clearly marked her as a child of divine favor.

“Is it her?”

Karapos nodded, her voice tinged with envy. “The physiques of these divine children are truly enviable.”

Karlo’s figure flickered and vanished. In the next instant, he appeared directly in front of the middle-aged woman.

“What… what do you want?” The woman stammered in panic. Karlo noticed her performing subtle gestures; green light flickered from her hands, and two thin vines swiftly grew from the floor to bind Karlo’s ankles.

However, it was a minor hindrance. Karlo effortlessly snapped the vines.

In comparison to Sophia, this divine child’s strength seemed pitifully weak.

“I need your soul,” Karlo said with a sigh, placing his hand on the woman’s forehead.

He attempted to imprint his mark on her soul but faced considerable resistance.

This resistance stemmed from the woman’s deep-seated obsession, causing her intense suffering.

“Wait…” The woman, drenched in sweat from the pain, pleaded, “If you help me with a task, I will agree to serve you.”

Karlo’s eyes glinted with interest as he released his grip. “What task?”

The woman’s eyes hardened with bitterness. “Help me kill two people.”

“Who?”

“One is a witch, and the other is the King of Pyracantha.”