Fragments left behind by an ancient war had sheared the peaks flat and filled the oceans, transforming the land into a frigid wasteland. Dense, sturdy trunks of pitch-black wood divided the white sands, their roots embedded parasitically deep beneath the earth.
The sky was an endless expanse of black, while the ground was a flawless, immaculate white. The black trees were the only link between the two.
This place was known as the White Dusk Forest.
There was neither day nor night here, neither season nor change. It was cold enough to numb a person in an instant, yet not a trace of ice could be found. There was no life—no insects, no birds or mountain apes...
There was not even a single drop of water.
Few people knew the story of this place. They knew only that countless people had been buried here, and that no living person had ever successfully set foot within it.
In the deepest reaches of the blackwood forest, a house stood abruptly upon the white wasteland. Surrounded by black tree trunks, its crooked fence looked a little less forlorn.
The house was pure white. Even its shadows were white, as though it belonged to a fairy-tale world—or as though it had been stripped of every color it was supposed to possess.
Inside the house, faint gray-white seams ran across the pure white floorboards, barely revealing that they were made of wood.
Four young women sat curled up on the floor, huddling against one another like small animals seeking warmth in the depths of winter. Their bodies were wrapped in crude garments fashioned from a handful of black leaves. The cold gnawed at their long, slender legs, yet they did not tremble in the slightest.
Strangely, their skin was also inhumanly pale.
Their uniformly gray-white hair made them look like sisters.
They stared at one another without expression, as though they had long since grown accustomed to such a life.
The long-haired girl sat in the middle of the other three, her hair spilling down like a waterfall. She reached out and stroked the cheek of the girl with twin tails.
“Little Sylvie, have you heard? Someone is coming here.”
Her voice was as devoid of emotion as the others’. Its unnatural rises and falls were frighteningly reminiscent of someone who had only just learned to speak a human language.
Apart from the whites, their eyes were a flawless black, like black pearls submerged in clear water.
And yet, outwardly, they remained beautiful young women.
“Sister, I know. I know who they are.” Sylvie raised a hand to her lips. “It’s the Church.”
“What should we do with them, Sister Shetiel?” asked the short-haired girl, tilting her head.
She reached out of her own accord and intertwined her fingers with Shetiel’s. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against the bridge of the other girl’s nose.
“Don’t worry, little Nayuan. Just like all the others, they will become our ‘nourishment.’”
The answer came from the girl sitting behind Shetiel. Although she was no taller than the others, the mature fullness of her chest was impossible to conceal.
“So we’ll be eating lots of people again this time, little Sandra.” Shetiel smiled, her expression filled with affection.
She gently kissed each of her sisters on the forehead, then rose to her feet. Her delicate body looked as though the slightest breeze could knock her over.
“There are also a few special ones coming this time.”
“What are they, Sister Shetiel?”
“Saintesses.”
Shetiel tilted her head and gazed through the window, toward somewhere far beyond the forest. It was as though she could already see what was destined to happen. The corners of her lips curved slightly upward.
“Just like us.”
“Tell them, Sister.”
“Bring them all here.”
“Mmm.”
Shetiel stepped out of the little house and extended one hand.
A pitch-black root emerged from the white sand, as black as her eyes. As it rose, the root twisted and contracted, even changing color, until it finally took the shape of a white dove.
The dove’s tiny claws clung tightly to her finger. It cocked its head, like a wax sculpture that had suddenly come to life.
“Go.”
The white dove shuddered. Then, as though it had received some silent command, it spread its wings and vanished from Shetiel’s sight in an instant.
“We’ve found someone interesting.”
...
Ulrich was arrested in the lecture hall.
The weather had been pleasant that day. Sunlight shone down upon the Holy Academy, bathing the entire campus in a golden radiance.
Ulrich had been teaching all seventy-six Class A students in attendance—almost every Class A student in the entire Holy Academy.
Today’s lecture concerned the precautions they would need to take during the competition in the White Dusk Forest.
Like a primary school teacher reminding children what to bring on a picnic, he repeatedly emphasized that they should prepare hot-water bottles and cups. It would also be best to bring notebooks so they could record everything they encountered, and he reminded them of the classes they would have to attend once they returned from the competition.
Most of the students were listening intently.
Then, without warning, something happened.
Heavy footsteps shook the floor.
The door suddenly flew open.
Crimson whips coiled around Ulrich’s body. Made entirely of magic, they tightened around his muscular, well-trained frame, rendering him completely unable to move and forcing him to his knees.
He calmly looked toward the entrance.
Several Inquisitors strode forward.
They had come to arrest him.
They looked different from the Inquisitors the students remembered. These men wore blood-red armor and carried enormous steel tridents. Their tips glowed like branding irons beneath a layer of crimson enchantment, resembling colossal blades of pure energy.
They were armed from head to toe. Intricate patterns had been carved across the sharp, angular plates of their armor, making them appear even more impenetrable. Two ruby-red metal wings adorned the cross-shaped visors of their helmets, symbols of their status.
Standing nearly three meters tall in their heavy armor, they resembled a squad of humanoid titans, yet they moved with astonishing agility.
Two enormous tridents closed around Ulrich’s neck, their ends plunging into the floor and robbing him of any possibility of resistance.
In an instant, the classroom had become the scene of an execution.
“What authority do you have to arrest me?” Ulrich asked calmly.
Admittedly, sprawled on the floor as he was, he looked rather ridiculous.
The students began whispering among themselves.
At that moment, one of the Inquisitors flung a stack of judgment documents into the room.
Pages scattered across the floor. Some fluttered through the air before one happened to land directly in front of Ulrich.
His eyes darted across it. The instant he saw what was written on one of the pages, his fist clenched.
His neatly groomed brows looked as though they might ignite and burst into raging flames.
His normally measured, resonant voice became furious. His entire bearing changed in an instant, transforming him from a composed teacher into a man consumed by rage. His disheveled hair only made him look more wretched.
Yet he offered no defense.
He merely swept his gaze across everyone in the room.
The name “Sathya” was written in the judgment documents.
That made him assume that Sathya—and the organization backing her—was responsible for all of this.
But how could a mere apprentice Saintess with slightly better grades possess enough influence to orchestrate such an operation?
Who exactly was she?
“Leaflight Society—I will expose your hideous true face one day.”
Rate on N.U.
