Chapter 385: Twofold Means

The pale yellow flower still carried its faint, refreshing fragrance.

But at this moment, on those delicate petals, specks of blood had spread—making it appear disturbingly bewitching.

Golden Orchid.

After that inexplicable flower-giving stunt from Freya earlier, Muen had looked it up.

It was a flower native to the southern lands, blooming only for a brief time during the warmest few days of a year-round spring country.

The flower itself wasn’t magical—just faintly fragrant, elegant in color, deeply likable.

Yet this tender, harmless blossom had now, in everyone’s eyes, turned into a terrifying nightmare.

“Never thought it would be planted in a place like this.”

Margarita gave a wry laugh. In a sense, her Death-Deed Writ was, at this point, just another tool helping the enemy.

But compared to that one...

Her willow-arched brows shot up as she glanced sideways.

“Paul, don’t tell me you also accepted one of her flowers?”

“Haha, how could I? Princess, you know me!”

Paul let out two bold laughs with his hands on his hips—then promptly pressed his sword against Margarita’s neck, wearing a bitter face.

“A gentleman like me could never refuse a gift from a lady, could I? So, my apologies, Princess. Please forgive me.”

From his pocket, a pale yellow flower flecked with blood peeked out playfully.

“......”

That irresponsible scoundrel—he always dropped the chain at critical moments!

Margarita gnashed her teeth. “You idiot, can’t you ever be on guard? Even if she looked normal before, Freya is still my rival!”

“Of course I checked.”

Paul straightened his face, answering seriously. “I double-checked—those Golden Orchids are just ordinary flowers!”

Margarita froze.

“These flowers are ordinary flowers,” Freya said, twirling a faint, elegant bunch of Golden Orchids between her fingers and inhaling softly.

“You’re all exceptional people. How could I ever make such a careless mistake?”

“So compared to the flowers themselves, what really matters is the act of accepting your gift?” Muen suddenly asked.

Freya gave him a smile brimming with amusement but didn’t answer.

“So what will you do then?”

Margarita sneered. “Make this idiot stab me like the others?”

“No. If stabbing were the plan, it would’ve happened already. You Saintess candidates aren’t like the rest. You’re of great use to me, so I’ll naturally treat you as honored guests.”

“Guests, huh...”

The first one skewered through earlier, Phil, painfully raised a hand, her face twisted in a cry.

“Then why was I the one stabbed, huh? Ugh... it hurts...”

“Because Miss Phil’s mastery of magic is truly frightening—especially your Gravity Magic. Even in this situation, it could’ve posed a huge threat to me.”

“Fortunately, that Miss Lightning-Lance’s weapon carries a short-term anti-magic effect. So I just took the opportunity to make you a bit quieter.”

“......”

Phil’s cherry lips parted blankly, tears shimmering in her eyes.

So it was true—the talented ones always got targeted first.

“You’re all remarkable,” Freya said softly, tugging at the chains binding her. Since the caster—Margarita—was now being controlled by her own knight, it didn’t take much effort for Freya to break free.

“Margarita’s knight looks like a libertine, but he’s a fake gentleman who’s barely held a girl’s hand. After some careful inspection, of course he accepted my flower.”

Paul stiffened, his expression turning awkward as if someone had read his diary aloud. His eyes rolled mechanically, and sure enough, he earned his princess’s contemptuous glare.

“Miss Phil’s knight is an outstanding adventurer, but not too bright. A few smooth words and he didn’t suspect a thing.”

“Ugh, if I’d known that, I wouldn’t have judged applicants by strength alone! Intelligence matters too!” Phil wailed in regret.

“As for Miss Anne...”

Everyone’s eyes naturally turned toward the proud little loli, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since earlier.

“Your knight is a war machine manufactured by the Stone-Cauldron Society—programmed only to obey orders—so of course he couldn’t have accepted my flower.”

Freya covered her mouth with a delicate laugh.

“But as for you, Miss Anne, who looks so unapproachable—just a few compliments, and you happily took it.”

“......”

In the brief, eerie silence, a pale yellow flower slowly unfolded atop the proud little girl’s head, blooming and swaying gracefully.

And as it blossomed, Anne’s tightly clenched face flushed red, little by little.

“......”

“But among all the Saintess candidates and their knights, only Mr. Muen and Miss Liya leave me helpless.”

Freya finally turned her gaze toward Muen—who still pressed his blade firmly against her throat.

“Mr. Muen has always shown such strange wariness toward me. May I ask why?”

“Instinct.”

“I see. How unreasonable.”

Freya sighed softly. “Mr. Muen is so irrational. And Miss Liya...”

She paused. “In the first few days after entering the ruins, Miss Liya was either hiding in her room or out shopping with you. I never found a chance to approach her alone. The two of you seem very close.”

“Average.”

“‘Average,’ you say?”

Freya’s gaze grew suggestive. She tilted her head, clearly uncomfortable with the cold blade pressed against her skin.

“So, Mr. Muen, are you planning to wait until the Death-Deed Writ expires and then just cut me down?”

“Who knows?”

Expressionless, Muen replied, “Maybe I won’t have to wait that long. The moment you show a flaw, I might finish you right then.”

“I’m full of flaws right now,” Freya smiled. “And so are you.”

“Wha—”

Muen’s pupils contracted. A nameless sense of danger rose in his chest, but he couldn’t find its source.

Then, suddenly, a clear cry rang out:

“Holy Light Shelter!”

Sacred radiance descended—but not upon Muen.

Instead, it fell upon Brian, who had been kneeling half-collapsed at Freya’s feet, having practically erased his presence since the start.

The light enveloped him as if cutting off something unseen.

“So you noticed? As expected, Miss Liya’s insight is still as sharp as ever.”

Freya looked toward the girl not far away—her face grave but her eyes steady. Freya didn’t retaliate; she merely waved her hand lightly.

“Too bad. The spores have already spread. It’s meaningless to resist now.”

“‘Spores’? What spo—”

Muen suddenly felt a strange chill seeping from his skin deep into his body.

It was followed by numbness, stiffness—as though encased in ice—his limbs slipping out of control.

And not just him; those who’d been stabbed or badly wounded but not yet eliminated wore the same grim expressions.

“This is...”

Muen’s thoughts raced, and he instantly locked on to the source.

“Blood? His blood?”

Heat surged through his eyes, his vision sharpening severalfold—and he saw it: from Brian’s flowing blood streamed out countless velvety red filaments.

Those filaments drifted through the air, landing upon the delicate petals and forming those eerie blood-colored spots.

So that’s why Freya began by stabbing her own knight?

She’d really sacrificed her teammate first—to unleash this nearly undetectable attack method?

“Relax. The spores’ toxin only paralyzes you temporarily. It’s not an offensive spell. The Death-Deed Writ’s loophole isn’t that big—and these improvised creations can’t exactly control you.”

Freya tilted her head, studying Muen’s struggling expression with a small laugh.

“After all, I can’t control everyone. I had no choice but to prepare two layers of plans.”

“Clever move.”

Muen’s lips twitched.

If only he’d noticed sooner like Liya—

No, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Even if he had, Freya had already cut off every path to resistance from the start.

Her giving of flowers had been deliberate—those who could still fight or interfere remotely even while paralyzed, without triggering the Death-Deed Writ, were eliminated first.

Like Phil, who could wield Gravity Magic.

Like Ailag, who could use Illusion Magic.

As for Liya...

“Well then, it seems no one else can resist.”

Freya extended a finger, and the Holy Light barrier around Brian suddenly shattered. As another Saintess candidate, she could naturally manipulate Holy Light herself.

“The little playtime’s over. Would you all please withdraw voluntarily?”

Freya stepped past Muen, looking toward the others.

Hands folded before her abdomen, posture graceful, her smile serene—she looked like a true Saintess descending from heaven.

“You...”

The brutish man’s face twisted, trembling in fury as he glared at her.

“We trusted you! Why? You think eliminating the rest will make ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) you Saintess? The Church will never allow it! Even if you’re the last one left, you—”

“Still don’t understand?”

Freya rubbed her forehead, exasperated. “My goal was never the Saintess’s seat.”

“What?”

The man froze.

“So dull.”

Freya sighed again, then added lightly,

“Could you all hurry up a bit? You should still have enough movement to use your scrolls. If you don’t, something unpleasant will happen.”

“Unpleasant...?”

The man suddenly sensed it—glancing down in horror.

At his wound, the regrowing flesh was squirming visibly—as though dozens of tiny tendrils had sprouted, twisting independently in all directions.

“So ordinary people get corrupted this quickly?”

“Corrupted?”

Terror filled the man’s face as he roared at Freya,

“You—you! You did this? Are you insane? The Church will never forgive you! A Saintess candidate doing such a thing—they’ll burn you at the stake—they’ll—”

“Ah, enough already. I’ve known that for a long time.”

Freya reached into his chest, plucked out a teleportation scroll, and crushed it. As a shimmer of light passed, the furious man vanished from sight.

“What a noisy man.”

Freya turned toward the rest. “Do you need me to help you too?”

Exchanging looks, the others, having seen what happened, dared not hesitate. One after another, they activated their teleportation scrolls and withdrew voluntarily.

Soon, the once-crowded hall was nearly empty.

Freya returned to stand before Muen again. Watching so many vanish, her gentle smile hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“Now it’s just you, Mr. Muen. You’re far too dangerous—so could you leave as well? Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your little Saintess.”

“Sounds like a line stolen straight out of a bull-headed cuckold’s mouth,” Muen sneered.

“Bull-headed... what?”

“Never mind, forget it. But before that, may I ask you one question?”

Muen’s smile faded.

“Of course. Please do.”

“This twisted method, this familiar stench of scheming...”

Muen looked directly into Freya’s eyes and asked seriously,

“Miss Freya, could it be... you’re a follower of the Love God?”

“Love God?”

For the first time, Freya’s expression faltered in front of him.

But almost immediately, that flicker of surprise melted into the curve of her lips.

“As expected of Mr. Muen. You actually guessed half of it... so quickly.”