Monica came back with a sudden gasp, coughing violently as her body regenerated and she expelled the blood that had gotten stuck in her lungs.
"By the Gods..." she heard Sir Tristan whisper from nearby.
Monica pushed herself up onto her elbows, spitting out a glob of half-coagulated blood. Her ribs creaked as they finished knitting themselves back together. The Golden Flame danced across her skin, erasing the last traces of her fatal wounds while the Nightshade Battle Wear reformed around her body.
“What are you?” Sir Tristan asked beside himself, raising his shield again.
“Avatar of the Twin Phoenix, Monica Monroe, at your service. Please put down that sword. Dying once is enough. At least I came back before you left. Now, you killed me and delivered justice. Can we talk like civilized people?”
Sir Tristan's grip tightened on his shield as he watched the woman he had just killed stand up and casually dust off her armor as if death was merely an inconvenience.
"You claim to be an Avatar?" His voice carried heavy skepticism. "Of an Ancient Beast?"
"Yes," Monica replied, stretching her neck until it cracked. "And while I respect the Duke's law, Sir Tristan, I have a higher calling. The Old Gods stir again. Machina herself appeared in a Dungeon barely two days from here." She gestured toward the forest. "Your Duke's authority means little compared to that threat."
The crowd watched in stunned silence as Monica walked closer to the Knight, her movements graceful despite having just resurrected. The Golden Flame had finished its work, leaving her looking as if she had never been impaled through the heart just seconds before.
"The Old Gods?" Tristan's stern demeanor cracked slightly.
“Yes,” Monica smiled, stopping at one step, barely a foot, from the towering knight. “And you’re strong, aren’t you? Very strong. Full of justice and maybe a bit cruel, too. Just how I like them.”
Monica extended a hand to touch his chest piece, but Sir Tristan took an instinctive step back, his combat instincts warring with his training as a Knight.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting," Monica said, casually summoning wisps of both Golden and Obsidian Flame around her hands, "that you could do more good hunting Old Gods than enforcing petty laws in backwater villages. These people need protection from threats far greater than corrupt officials, and I’m just about to go pay a visit to Machina in Viscera. I could use someone like you,” her voice became very languid when saying the last few words.
Monica had just met the knight, but her people instincts had immediately told her that this man was not only strong and very talented but that he had the right moral fiber she was looking for.
Sure, she had just killed her because she had infringed on the Duke’s Law, but that was probably because he was still a bit green, still in need of being taught.
And he’s also freakishly handsome, Monica thought to herself. I could use a big, strong man on the team.
“How old are you, Sir Tristan?”
“Why do you ask, Avatar? I’m thirty-one.”
Not too old, not too young. He still yearns for justice.
“Alright, Sir. What is more just, to look after a mortal man who has you kill women for his justice or a crusade against evil? I don’t know about the other Old Gods, but Machina is pretty much as bad as it gets. So, would you say you’d be delivering justice by returning to your Lord after today or by coming with me in the kind of adventure Knights can only dream of?”
Sir Tristan, clearly caught unprepared, opened and closed his mouth several times, not knowing what to say.
Monica watched with satisfaction as uncertainty crept across Sir Tristan's chiseled features. She thought his rigid worldview was starting to crack, that he began to question everything he’d built their life around. It was extremely satisfying.
The slight tremor in his sword hand, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, the flicker of doubt in his eyes—all of it told her she'd struck exactly the right chord.
She could practically see the thoughts warring behind his eyes. The fact that she'd come back from death had shaken him, yes, but it was her words about justice that had truly struck home.
She took another step forward, almost chest-to-chest with him, the Golden Flame still dancing around her fingers for added dramatic effect.
"You know I'm right," she said. "Deep down, you've always known there was something more than just following orders. Something greater than—"
"Enemy Magnet."
She felt a moment of weightlessness, a strange sensation of disconnect, and then her perspective shifted violently. The world spun and tilted until all she could see was the endless blue sky above, scattered with soft white clouds.
I guess I miscalculated.
She didn't even feel her head hit the ground.
* * *
Sir Tristan watched with morbid fascination as Monica's head slowly rolled toward her body, connected by a thin tendril of golden flame. The flame grew brighter, wrapping around her neck like molten metal and releasing a sea of sparks. Within moments, her head had reattached itself, the golden fire knitting flesh and bone together.
That definitely confirmed she could come back to life, which meant she might actually be an Avatar of an Ancient Beast.
He gripped his sword tighter as an unsettling feeling rooted itself in his gut. He'd never encountered anything like this in all his years of service. The woman before him was clearly no mortal—that much was certain.
But what troubled him more were her words, still echoing in his mind.
A crusade against the Old Gods.
The very thought made him tremble. The Duke's law was meant to protect people to maintain order. But what good was order if the Old Gods returned? What use would petty laws be if Corruption spread across the land like in the tales of old?
Her words had struck deeper than any blade could.
And now, watching her body knit itself back together through some divine power he couldn't comprehend, his certainty in the natural order of things—in the very laws he'd sworn to uphold—began to waver.
None of his training had prepared him for someone who could laugh off death itself, who spoke of fighting beings that had once brought the world to its knees.
"My Lord Knight?"
Madeline's tentative voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to face her and noticed how she stood straighter now. Something was different in these villagers' eyes now. There was not the usual fear he was accustomed to seeing but something closer to hope.
"The Corrupted Dungeon," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "This Avatar claims she destroyed it. Is this true?"
"Yes," Madeline answered without hesitation. "But that's not all. She healed us—all of us. The Corruption spreading through our village was burned away with her golden fire. She cured me. And before she brought back my children... she..." Madeline's voice crumbled from the emotion.
Sir Tristan's frown deepened.
That’s not possible.
"Corruption cannot be healed. Once it takes root—"
"But it can," a man's voice interrupted. A man stepped forward from the crowd, looking more scholarly than the others.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
He adjusted a pair of spectacles on his nose as he approached, showing none of the usual deference commoners displayed toward Knights.
"Hello. I'm Lucas, a Scholar from the Institute.”
Oh no, Sir Tristan sighed. Not one of them.
“I saw it with my own eyes,” Lucas explained, “the Avatar's flames purified the corruption. It is, in fact, not something that should surprise us because of its logic—just because it’s a magnificent feat. The Twin Phoenix’s Golden Flame is renowned for being the ultimate panacea to all evil."
[Scholar - Level 31]
The tag above Lucas's head lent some weight to his words. Scholars, especially those from the Institute, were sometimes known for flights of fancy or exaggeration. But they also dealt with the kind of research and knowledge the man was spouting. And this one had clearly spent some time along the redhead.
"I've studied this village’s Corruption extensively," Lucas continued, pulling out a notebook from his vest. "I've documented every case and how quickly Lady Monica, the Avatar of the Twin Phoenix, healed it. What I witnessed here wouldn’t have been possible for anyone but this woman to accomplish. And I saw it happen. People who were clearly condemned to death by their rotting flesh—she healed them all. Not a trace of Corruption remained."
Sir Tristan couldn’t believe it.
But his intuition told him it all made sense.
"You see, Sir Tristan, the Avatar of the Twin Phoenix isn't just another powerful being. She represents the quintessential adversary to the Old Gods—particularly Machina." Lucas spoke like a lecturer. "The Twin Phoenix was the most formidable of all Ancient Beasts, possessing virtual immortality and unmatched combat prowess. And Lady Monica literally incarnates those traits. She is those traits."
Sir Tristan's gaze flickered to Monica's still-regenerating form, then back to Lucas.
"But what truly sets her apart in terms of Corrupting fighting," Lucas continued, reaching into his vest, "is the Golden Flame's purifying properties. It doesn't just heal people from the symptoms—it completely eliminates Corruption from anything it touches." His hand emerged, holding something that caught the sunlight with pristine clarity. "Allow me to demonstrate."
“What is that,” the Knight asked.
Lucas handed it to him so that he could examine it, but it just looked like a normal crystal. Sure, it looked sturdy and valuable, but there were surely mines brimming with stuff like this somewhere in the mountains.
It was very cold at the touch, though, and made Tristan curious.
"This," Lucas said carefully, "came from a Crystal Wolf."
The reaction was immediate. Sir Tristan leaped backward and let the Crystal Shard fall to the ground, immediately taking out his sword. His face contorted with fury as he leveled the blade at Lucas's throat.
"You dare bring corrupted items into my presence?" he snarled. "Are you trying to poison me, Scholar?"
Lucas raised his hands slowly, maintaining a calm demeanor despite the steel at his throat. Without breaking eye contact with the enraged Knight, he slowly bent down and retrieved the Crystal Shard.
"Look closer, Sir," Lucas said, holding the shard up to the light. "Do you see any trace of Corruption? Any hint of the twisted essence that normally pervades such crystals? Is it murky like any Corrupted item would be, or is it not crystal clear?" The Scholar smirked at his own pun.
Sir Tristan's sword didn't waver, but his eyes narrowed as he studied the crystal. Slowly, reluctantly, he had to admit that the Scholar was right. The crystal was utterly, impossibly pure.
Sir Tristan used Inspect.
*Ding*
You have successfully inspected Crystal Wolf’s Shard (Uncommon)!
Crystal Wolf’s Shard (Uncommon)
A pure shard of crystal that used to be corrupted.
An exceptionally resilient material for crafting.
"Lady Monica did this," Lucas explained. "The Golden Flame burned away every trace of Corruption, leaving only pure crystal behind. I've documented the entire process in my—"
"Oh good, you're showing off my work."
Both men turned to see Monica pushing herself up from the ground once again, casually brushing dirt from her armor.
Her neck showed no sign of ever having been severed, though there was a hint of annoyance in her expression.
"You know, Sir Tristan," she said, stretching lazily, "most men would buy a lady dinner before killing her off. Twice."
"We need to talk," he said firmly, though his sword had lowered slightly.
"Finally," Monica grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
Monica lounged in her chair at Madeline's dining table, popping grapes into her mouth one by one as she studied the mountain of a man across from her. Sir Tristan seemed to take up half the room with his massive frame, yet he barely touched the food before him. His plate remained basically untouched.
Monica had insisted on speaking with Sir Tristan alone because she knew this particular fish needed space to swim into her net on his own.
Her earlier approach had been too direct, too forceful. She'd pushed too hard and gotten her head lopped off for her trouble. But Monica was nothing if not adaptable. Now, she simply sat, eating her fruit with deliberate casualness, letting the silence do the work for her. She needed this man – or rather, she needed what he represented. His Level 129 would be invaluable in Viscera, where she expected to face monsters well into the hundreds. Without someone of his caliber to help manage those threats while she power-leveled Ted and Heidi and herself, their chances of survival would plummet dramatically.
The Crystal Wolf Boss had been Level 60, and even with Ted’s help, it had nearly killed her and, most importantly, everyone else. Viscera would be different. The fallen Dwarven capital would be crawling with Machina’s creations. Furthermore, Monica would have to eradicate Machina herself after finding the Spear of Dhoznil, and the Old Goddess most likely had either possessed the strongest creation of hers or the strongest monster she could find in the Lost Dwarven Capital.
Monica couldn't afford to rush in unprepared. She needed Ted and Heidi to gain as many levels as possible before facing the Old Goddess, and that meant controlled encounters with high-level monsters. One at a time, carefully managed, with someone strong enough to intervene if things went wrong. Someone like the Knight sitting across from her, whose defensive Skills could buy precious seconds if they bit off more than they could chew.
Without someone of his caliber, they'd be gambling with their lives every time they engaged an enemy. One miscalculation, one unexpected patrol of corrupted monstrosities, and her companions would be dead before she could resurrect. She could come back from death – they couldn't.
"You know," he finally said, breaking the lengthy silence, "I've seen many people claim to fight for justice. Most of them were lying. Or they only cared about justice when it suited them." His gauntleted hands clenched slightly on the table. "But you..." He paused, searching for words. "You speak of fighting Old Gods and Corruption as if it's the only thing that matters. Do you believe it? Or is it just a convenient excuse to defy the Duke?"
Monica watched the internal struggle play across his features. She could practically hear his thoughts.
When I joined the Duke's service, I swore to protect the weak and punish the wicked. Yet here I am, defending a man like Ivor because he had the Duke's blessing. Does that make me a hypocrite or just a soldier following orders?
She set down her half-eaten tangerine and met his troubled gaze. "Tell me, Sir Tristan—what is justice, to you?"
Sir Tristan’s brow furrowed, and he seemed almost offended by the simplicity of the question.
“Justice is... order. Law. It’s the only thing that keeps our world from descending into chaos.” He spoke automatically as if repeating a lesson he’d learned by heart, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice.
His eyes lowered, and he rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture looking almost comical coming from such an imposing figure in full plate armor.
“Without law, without structure, we’d be no better than beasts.”
“Laws indeed bring order, and order protects the weak,” Monica said, leaning forward. “But what happens when those who create the laws stop caring about the people they’re meant to protect? Isn’t justice more than just following rules? Isn’t it about doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult? Even when you have to hurt people?”
Sir Tristan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, which creaked under his weight.
“I don’t resent you for carrying out my execution,” Monica said, absently rolling a grape between her fingers. “But I resent your naive outlook, Sir Tristan. If Ivor is nothing more than a bully, a criminal put in charge, then why are you not considering who infringed upon the justice of this world?”
“You are not saying—”
“I am, Sir Tristan. Who put Ivor there?”
The knight’s face darkened, and his massive hands clenched into fists on the table. The idea that someone could question the very foundation of his loyalty—that someone could imply the Duke himself might be responsible for injustice—seemed to physically pain him. Monica watched the internal struggle play across his features with keen interest.
“Careful, Avatar,” he growled. “You speak of the Duke as if he’s some kind of villain. But he rules Valtieri with strength and stability. The peace we enjoy—”
“Peace for whom?” Monica interrupted, her voice sharp. “You must’ve certainly seen the law twisted by the powerful. How many times justice was only served to those who could afford it, or when order was kept at the expense of the innocent? How many Ivors have you encountered in your service, Sir Tristan?”
The knight’s shoulders slumped slightly, though his voice remained defiant.
“You think I haven’t seen the flaws in the system? That I haven’t wanted to challenge the very orders I’ve been given? But what choice do I have? If every knight decided to act on his sense of justice, there would be no law left to uphold.”
Monica set down her fruit and stood.
“Let me be clear about something, Sir Tristan. I don’t care about stability. I don’t care about maintaining order for order’s sake.” Her eyes blazed. “Justice for people is more important than anything – including safety. If I have to kill all the Old and New Gods to make sure that justice is upheld, I will. And I won’t be stopped by a mere Duke, nor by you. These plans might sound foolish if spoken by a weakling—but I can afford as many deaths as I need to do the right thing. And if the right thing is to kill you and your Duke, how many times do you think you can keep killing me, trying to restrain me, before my levels equal and overcome yours? Before I can level up your Duke’s city, your little scheme of contained tyranny?”
The silence that followed her declaration was heavy.
Sir Tristan stared at her with a harsh gaze.
Before he could respond, the door burst open with a bang. Ted stumbled in, clutching Thraldrirlum’s pickaxe and wearing an expression of wild excitement.
“Monica! I figured it out!” He was practically bouncing with enthusiasm. “I know how to reach Viscera!”