When Saintess Sathya brought the first dawn to this dark world, no one could have imagined that beneath the golden splendor lay a cruel dungeon for punishing prisoners.
The distant Kingdom of Estar was the only nation in the Southern Continent influenced by the Church. There were no towering skyscrapers or bustling, overwhelming metropolises here—only endless stretches of backwater countryside and boundless paddy fields.
The archipelago separating it from the prosperous Northern Continent made maritime navigation a struggle, which was one of the fundamental reasons behind the construction of countless airships.
Regardless, the people of the Church referred to this place as the 'Land of Exile.'
Rust-stained, cold chains lay cast aside like tools of execution. Inside a certain prison in the Kingdom of Estar, an exceptionally beautiful woman, whose looks could be said to ruin nations, sat curled up, clutching her legs tightly.
A few drops of blue-gray mud stained her firm, delicate thighs. Her tattered shirt exposed a slender waist marked by several bloody welts... The wounds had already healed, but the dried blood left behind had not yet been wiped clean.
A guard wearing a pointed silver iron helmet and holding a spear walked over. He stared at the woman in the cell through the iron bars, holding a bowl of watery gruel in his hand.
He slowly placed the gruel on the ground and used a wooden stick to nudge it over to the floor not far from her.
“You damned wretch, you haven't eaten or drank anything for two weeks. If you're so intent on dying, don't drag me down with you!”
...
The woman remained motionless, acting as if she hadn't heard a thing.
But this only made the guard grow anxious and irritable.
He pulled out a whip lined with sharp thorns that was strapped to his waist, as if hinting at what was to come.
“Speak to me! I've never seen a prisoner like you. Damn it!”
Then, he muttered under his breath, “If you die, the King won't let me off easily...”
With that, he unlocked the cell door.
He had already lost a lot of money playing cards with his colleagues, and now he was being given trouble at work by this damned woman.
He was originally a royal guard who should have had a brilliant, soaring future ahead of him. But for some reason, the King had reassigned him to this godforsaken place. Let alone visiting the Northern Continent, he now had to tend to these miserable prisoners every single day.
At the thought of having to deal with even more dregs of society in the future, the muscles on his face bunched together, twisting into pure rage.
“If you won't eat, then just hurry up and die!”
He suddenly whipped out his lash and slashed it viciously toward the woman!
With a sharp crack, the terrifying blades on the whip struck the woman's pale skin, but for some reason, the blow failed to leave a mark.
He was already accustomed to this, so he simply continued to swing with even greater force.
Crack!
“What absolute rubbish, 'Sword God'! I think you're just a demon!”
A bloody welt appeared on the woman's shoulder. Normally, such a mark would heal at a rate visible to the naked eye, but her prolonged starvation had left her so weak that actual blood began to seep from the wound.
Seeing this, the guard panicked. The only reason he had dared to beat this woman in the first place was because she seemed completely indestructible no matter how hard he struck her. He had discovered this when he got drunk one night, intending to whip some other prisoners, but stumbled into the wrong room instead.
She didn't resist, nor did she speak. It was as if she were quietly waiting for death.
But now, he felt as though she really might die.
If she died by his hand, he would almost certainly lose his job.
And on top of that, she was the Sword God!
A former Cardinal, the woman known as the Sword God.
Yet, because she had dared to raise her hand against the Saintess, she had been exiled to this place, reduced to the same status as an ordinary convict.
But now, the King was demanding that he ensure the Sword God's survival? What a foolish decision!
Wasn't it all just because of the visit from the so-called Rebel Army, along with Alissa and Caesar?
Was it possible that the Church was actually going to ally with the Rebel Army? Regardless of whether the Saintess was real or fake, rebelling against that person was simply too difficult!
It was nothing but a pipe dream!
With these thoughts swirling, the guard's hatred for the woman before him grew even more pronounced. He lashed out at her once more, but this time, he used too much force, tearing a gruesome gash right across her arm.
Her face, hidden beneath a mess of tangled hair, finally twitched, which brought a sense of satisfaction to the guard.
He kicked over the bowl of gruel, spat out a curse, and locked the door behind him once more, leaving the pitiful, bleeding woman behind.
Five minutes passed. The blood had not even begun to clot, and the suffocating stench of decay and iron filled the air.
Another sound came from the doorway.
It was the voices of two lively young girls.
“Velrose, is this her room?”
“Why are you running so fast...”
“Mhm, we have to tell Mother!”
They stopped outside Elcalan's cell. Upon seeing the pitiful woman inside, they finally fell silent.
Wrapping themselves in Church cloaks, they had disguised themselves as members of the clergy and boarded Saintess Sathya's airship to reach this place.
One of them was Krulu, and the other was Velrose.
A faint flicker of emotion crossed Elcalan's otherwise expressionless face, yet she still did not lift her head to look at them.
Neither Velrose nor Krulu spoke a single word to Elcalan either.
One of them was responsible for wiping down Elcalan's body, while the other bandaged her wounds.
Her limbs were gently moved, causing her no discomfort.
After pulling back her arms, they replaced her tattered shirt with a warm vest and coat. Soft bandages were wrapped around her pale, firm thighs, and she was dressed in a pair of snug cotton trousers.
Was she being taken away?
“Sathya... why?”
she murmured.
She was originally meant to be executed on charges of attempting to assassinate the Saintess.
Yet, under the orders of certain individuals, she had been repeatedly transferred between various prisons, which had ironically kept her alive. Now that she had been sent to this prison in the Land of Exile, she would perhaps spend the rest of her long life here.
During this time, someone had tried to invite her to join a new organization called the Rebel Army.
But she had given no answer.
And now, was she about to be taken away by Saintess Sathya's people?
If she remembered correctly, they were still students of the Holy Academy.
“Elcalan, we didn't receive any orders from Sathya, but we are here to take you to see the Pope.”
“The... the Pope?”
Upon hearing that word, Elcalan suddenly clutched her head and curled into a ball.
It was as if she were seeing something that wasn't there.
Incoherent, struggling noises escaped her throat, sounding like a tragic wail as her soul was being dragged out of her body bit by bit.
“Castina, no... it's not like that, Castina...”
“It's not like that, it's not like that... it's not...”
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