Heavy footsteps echoed in the grand hall. Ragna slightly raised her eyelids to look at the newcomer, who was brimming with murderous intent. The figure wore a uniquely styled military uniform and carried a sheathed longsword, walking toward the center of the hall step by step.
Although they had not met for many years, her appearance remained deeply etched in Ragna's mind.
“Julia, it has been a long time.”
Ragna spoke indifferently, her low voice echoing in the empty hall.
She had imagined this reunion countless times in her dreams—in palaces, in towns, in the wilderness. She would give the girl a hug, and she wondered if the girl would still angrily punch her in the chest like she used to.
But dreams were just dreams; everything within them was completely devoid of logic.
Fifteen years was enough to change far too much. She was no longer the girl of the past who was solely bent on revenge. She had become weak, silent, and unrecognizable even to herself.
And the once teary-eyed girl had now grown up, having become strong enough to weather any storm.
“It has been a long time...”
“Sister.”
Julia's gaze scrutinized the figure on the throne. In just fifteen short years, Ragna had aged to the point where she was almost unrecognizable.
Yet she did not find it strange at all, for this was the price of everything—the price a usurping monarch paid for patricide, matricide, and stealing the throne!
“Sister, you are truly pitiful,” she said, looking down on the seemingly high-and-mighty monarch with disdain. “Look at your empty palace. At this very moment, not a single person is willing to die for you. A usurping monarch is destined to end up betrayed.”
At this moment of the kingdom's impending collapse, whether it was the once high-ranking officials or the loyal knights, they had all abandoned their lord and fled for their lives.
The entire palace had long been deserted; nothing was left.
“Then what about you? Why didn't you run?” Julia asked with a sneer on her lips.
“I am the King of Northland!”
Ragna stood up, her expression grave and majestic. At this moment, she truly possessed some of the dignity of a monarch.
“Since you came alone, you must have resolved yourself long ago!”
Ragna drew the Monarch's Sword, looked at the figure in the center of the hall, and said, “Your turn. Draw your sword!”
She had let Julia hate her for fifteen years; their fifteen-year grievance would end today.
“Heh.”
Julia drew her sword, the hatred in her chest erupting at this moment. Yet the more she hated, the calmer she became.
Both took a step forward at the same time, their figures closing in rapidly. Longswords clashed against each other, setting off fleeting sparks.
Ragna's frame did not look robust; in fact, because she had aged too quickly, she appeared quite withered and thin.
Yet her swordplay was extremely powerful, each strike sending a slight numbness through Julia's grip.
“What's the matter? Is this all you've got?” Ragna panted slightly, yet she still mocked.
The slow-acting poison she had ingested over many years constantly corroded her body. Her physical stamina was far inferior to that of the younger Julia, and her energy consumption was extremely high.
While she appeared to hold the upper hand now, in truth, she was merely struggling to hold on, unable to let go of her dignity as an older sister.
Julia remained silent. More than anyone else, she wanted the person in front of her dead. But the closer she got to this moment, the more she needed to stay steady, never giving her opponent any opportunity.
It was as if this battle had been simulated in her mind tens of thousands of times. She skillfully parried every one of Ragna's attacks, and then, after another strike from Ragna, she caught a flaw.
Julia's longsword instantly pierced Ragna's sword-wielding wrist.
A wave of intense pain struck, and blood sprayed instantly. The ornate Monarch's Sword in Ragna's hand clattered to the ground.
Ragna's face twisted in agony. She stared at the figure before her, as if seeing the girl from many years ago once again.
“Do it!” she bellowed.
But Julia seemed not to hear, her deep eyes gazing at her silently.
Ragna sneered. She bent down, attempting to pick up the Monarch's Sword on the ground with her other hand.
This time, Julia finally moved. A split second before Ragna's fingertips touched the hilt, Julia's blade slit her throat.
As the blood sprayed out, Julia's gaze dazed for a brief moment. Fifteen years of hatred suddenly vanished into thin air. She had thought she would feel elated, that she would feel a sense of relief, but in reality, her heart felt empty, as if a piece had suddenly been carved out.
She slowly lowered her head. Ragna's corpse lay on the ground, blood spreading to her feet. Together with the scattered droplets of blood, it outlined a smiling face, as if even in death, she was playing a prank on her.
“Julia,” a youth's voice rang out from behind her.
Julia sheathed her sword and turned to look at the youth. “Don't look, Your Holiness.”
“I have seen far more gruesome scenes than this.”
Lu Li shook his head and quickly walked toward her. “Are you all right? You've been in here for too long.”
So long that he had almost thought she had died inside the palace.
“I'm fine.”
Julia's voice was calm, but hidden within that calmness was an emotion that even she could not quite identify.
But Lu Li saw through it.
He took a step forward, gently cupping the woman's cheeks with his hands. “Julia, you are sad.”
“I'm not. Why would I be sad?”
“Look into my eyes.”
The youth's voice carried an unquestionable tone. Julia slightly lowered her gaze, and then sank into that ocean of tolerance.
“Your Holiness, I am not sad at all. Really, I am very happy, very pleased,” she said earnestly as she stared into those eyes. But what she did not know was how weak and futile her explanation sounded to the youth; every corner of her eyes was filled with sorrow.
“You can't fool me,” the youth's voice was soft and warm.
It had taken Julia fifteen years to build a fortress of iron around her heart. Yet, with just a single sentence, the youth in front of her had poked a hole right through this invulnerable barrier.
“Your Holiness, am I a devil?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“I started a war, destroyed a country, shattered countless families, and finally killed my own sister. And on top of that, I am a blasphemer.”
Hearing this, Lu Li raised an eyebrow and half-jokingly said, “When you put it that way, you really do sound like one.”
In fact, he and Julia were exactly the same kind of people. It was truly a pity for this vast Holy State; both its number one and number two figures were top-tier heretics who had absolutely no faith.
Lu Li stood on his tiptoes and found that the height difference between them was not as easily bridged as he had thought. Thus, he spoke up:
“You're too tall. Crouch down a bit.”
Unsure of his intentions, Julia still crouched down as told.
Then she saw the youth's holy and beautiful face getting closer and closer, until a warm, gentle touch of his lips pressed against her forehead.
His Holiness... kissed her forehead.
Julia's expression turned absolutely wonderful in an instant. It was as if she had been struck by lightning, and even her breathing became slightly erratic.
“Do you feel a bit better now? Don't overthink things. This is the Pope's love,” the youth said in a light, cheerful voice, a hint of a smile in his words.
But Julia did not understand, so she asked in a daze, “Why?”
“Because in a Hell where even the Holy Light cannot shine, the only thing that can redeem a devil... is love!”
The youth's tone was as casual and natural as ever.
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