How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

"Ugh!"

A sharp gasp escaped the man's lips as pain exploded through his body.

His face contorted in frustration, and his hand instinctively shot up to grip his shoulder, fingers digging into the torn fabric of his cloak.

Right now, he was pinned against the cold stone wall of a towering building, his body suspended several feet above the ground.

Blood gushed from the gaping wound in his chest, staining his dark robes as he struggled to move.

A long, gleaming golden spear had impaled him through his side, pinning him in place like an insect caught in a cruel display.

His breaths came in short, ragged bursts as he grasped the shaft of the weapon, trying to wrench it free—only for a sharp surge of pain to jolt through his body.

His fingers trembled as his strength began to wane.

A voice, dripping with amusement, cut through the night air.

"Tsk~ I actually missed. Sorry about that."

The man's eyes flickered toward the speaker, his face twisting into a furious scowl.

"You did that on purpose, brat!" he snarled.

Before him stood a young woman, barely out of her teens, yet exuding a presence far beyond her years.

The moonlight illuminated her composed figure—her stance was unwavering, her grip on her weapon firm and unshaken.

Though she was clearly a student, there was no mistaking it—she carried herself not just as a knight, but as something far more dangerous.

A paladin.

The kind of opponent he had spent his life running from.

His jaw clenched as he glared at her, eyes burning with frustration.

"And here I thought I actually managed to hide pretty well," he muttered, his voice laced with bitter amusement.

He clenched his fist, focusing inward, trying to draw upon the abyssal power that had always come to his aid—the dark, insidious mana gifted to him by his great demon lord.

But the moment he tried to channel it, a searing heat flared through his body.

The spear embedded in his chest pulsed with divine energy, its golden glow intensifying as if rejecting his very existence.

The corrupt mana inside him trembled, suppressed, locked away by the holy weapon that kept him trapped.

A sharp click of the tongue echoed through the silence.

"There's no use calling onto your stupid lord now, demonic worshipper."

The girl's voice was cold, merciless.

A flicker of dread crossed the man's eyes as the reality of his situation sank in.

He wasn't getting out of this.

Not this time.

His fingers twitched against the spear's shaft, blood still dripping from his wound.

Yet, despite the agony, despite the hopelessness of his situation, a slow, bitter grin crept onto his lips.

"...Tch. I see."

The man's weary eyes locked onto the young woman before him—golden blonde hair, piercing green eyes.

There was no mistaking it.

He knew her face, had heard whispers of her reputation within the academy halls, but until now, he had never bothered to truly acknowledge her presence.

After all, what use was there in remembering the names of famous children when he had greater plans in motion?

Yet now, as he hung pinned against the cold stone wall, bleeding, struggling, helpless, he could no longer afford to ignore her.

She was the one who had hunted him down.

His voice came out strained, tinged with both exhaustion and curiosity.

"How did you know?"

The young woman—unshaken, unwavering—tilted her head slightly, almost as if amused by his question.

"Does it matter?"

She spoke with chilling indifference.

Without hesitation, she raised her hand, and in an instant, a brilliant spear of light materialized within her grip.

The divine energy radiating from the weapon burned with a golden glow, pulsating with overwhelming power.

It was pure. Holy. Absolute.

A weapon forged not just to wound—but to eradicate.

The man's body tensed.

He could feel the air growing heavier, the sharp hum of divine energy rippling around him like a death sentence.

She was going to kill him.

Her emerald eyes locked onto him, void of hesitation.

She thrust the spear forward—aiming directly for his heart.

But just before the fatal blow could land—

A soft voice cut through the silence.

"Wait. Don't kill him yet, Miss Uriel."

Uriel's movement stopped instantly. The divine spear flickered, its deadly radiance dimming slightly as she halted her attack.

From behind her, a young woman emerged from the shadows, her presence immediately drawing attention.

She walked with a calm, measured pace, her figure draped in a mysterious, dark cloak that obscured most of her form.

Yet, despite the concealment, her face was unmistakable.

The man's bloodied eyes widened in shock.

He knew her.

She was his student.

His breath hitched, his lips parting slightly as her name escaped in a hushed murmur—

"Miss Enna…?"

A small, almost gentle smile formed on the young woman's lips.

"Hello, Professor Heinrich."

Behind her, three other figures stood in quiet formation, their presence looming in the dim light of the alley.

He couldn't make out their faces entirely, but their intent was clear—they were not here as his allies.

"Kuku—Kuhahaha! I see! I see now!"

Professor Heinrich's laughter erupted, manic and wild, echoing off the cold stone walls. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with a mixture of hysteria and revelation.

"So that's why my instincts kept screaming at me to get rid of you! You—you were part of the Holy Kingdom all along! You sly bitch!"

His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as realization struck him like a hammer to the skull. His lips curled into a sneer.

"Tell me, which bishop sent you?!"

His voice rose with venom, desperation laced between his words.

"How low has the Holy Kingdom fallen to send a mere child as their pawn?!"

But just as he was about to hurl another insult—

WHOOSH!

A sharp gust of wind rushed past his face, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire body froze.

It wasn't a blade. It wasn't a spell.

It was a single gesture.

A simple point of Enna's delicate fingers.

Yet, in that moment, a force far beyond comprehension pressed down upon him.

A divine will. Absolute. Unyielding. Overwhelming.

His lips trembled, but no words came out.

Her voice, calm yet unshakable, rang in the air—a quiet command that left no room for defiance.

"Enough of the pointless chatter, Professor."

Now, atone for your sins and tell us where your cultists have gathered."

A heavy silence fell upon the alley.

Heinrich's breath came in short, uneven bursts. His mind reeled, struggling to process what had just happened.

He had fought paladins before. He had won. He had escaped.

He knew the nature of divine energy.

Though it varied in strength, one thing always remained true—like demonic energy, its purity reflected the strength of one's connection to the Goddess.

And what had just struck him now…

It wasn't the power of some ordinary clergy.

It wasn't even the divine energy of a paladin.

No—this purity, this sheer weight of divinity, was beyond the bishops. Beyond the cardinals.

It was at a level akin to that of the Pope himself.

A chill ran down his spine. His fingers twitched, his throat tightened.

And then—a nervous smile crept onto his lips.

His voice came out in a hushed whisper, almost unbelieving.

"Enna… no. No, that's not your real name, is it?"

His wide, bloodied eyes met hers.

"You… You're Saintess Emilia."

A shiver of realization crawled through his skin.

"You were hiding… in the academy?"

The weight of his words settled between them, thick with disbelief.

For the first time, true fear seeped into Heinrich's gaze.

Because he finally understood.

He had never stood a chance.

Escape was no longer an option.

He knew it. Felt it in his very bones.

The Saintess was here. And she wasn't just any servant of the Goddess—she was the most merciless of them all.

Compared to her, the executioners of the Holy Church were nothing but mere children. Zealots who believed in swift judgment and righteous fury.

But her?

She was different.

There was no hesitation in her actions.

No moral dilemma.

No moment of doubt.

To her, exterminating those tainted by darkness wasn't a duty—it was an inevitability.

The way the church executed its heretics was methodical. Precise.
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But the way the Saintess dealt with them?

It was absolute.

His breath hitched.

A cold realization settled in his gut.

And then—it all clicked.

The paladins.

Their strange, erratic movements at the borders of the Holy Kingdom. Their uncharacteristic restlessness.

No.

It wasn't just at the border.

The paladins all over the world…

They had been acting strangely for weeks.

He had thought it was nothing but a minor coincidence. A ripple in the grand scheme of things. A meaningless shift.

After all, his cult had been so close to completing their grand plan within the academy.

So why, then, had the paladins begun to move?

Why had they suddenly changed their patterns, abandoning old strongholds, pursuing shadows that shouldn't have even existed to them?

Now, staring into the cold, unwavering gaze of Saintess Emilia, he understood.

'This fucking bitch knew… since when?'

And worse-

She had been watching.

Waiting.

Letting them think they were still in control, that their plan was unfolding flawlessly.

When in reality—

They were already doomed the moment she laid her eyes on them.

A sharp, bitter chuckle escaped his lips. His shoulders shook as laughter bubbled from deep within his chest.

"Kuhahaha—Hahahaha!"

Laughter filled the air, twisted and broken, laced with both frustration and amusement.

To think…

To think this was how it would all end.

Not in some grand battle. Not in a final desperate struggle against the holy church's forces.

No.

His end had come without fanfare, without glory.

By the hands of a girl who had spent years hiding in plain sight—waiting for the perfect moment to crush them all.

Was this something to be proud of?

Or was this the most pathetic way to go?

Emilia sighed as she watched Heinrich teeter dangerously close to insanity.

She had seen this before—this kind of laughter.

A desperate, bitter cackle from a man who had long accepted death but still clung to his cause with fanatical devotion.

He was breaking.

Not from fear. Not from pain.

But from the sheer irony of it all.

Heinrich was a man willing to shatter himself for his beliefs.

A man who wouldn't beg—not for life, not for mercy.

He would rather die than betray his cause.

And yet, even knowing that, Emilia still chose to ask.

A final attempt.

A final offering.

Her voice was calm, unshaken, laced with the cold detachment of someone who had long since stopped expecting redemption from men like him.

"Professor Heinrich." Her golden-green eyes bore into him, unwavering. "I am about to send you to your maker. No—" she corrected herself with a soft sigh, "I am about to send you into the abyss, so you may at least have a semblance of atonement for your sins."

She took a step forward, the spear of light in her hand humming with divine radiance.

"So, before that happens, I ask of you—tell me the locations of your followers."

A pause.

"And I shall grant them the mercy they deserve."

Heinrich's lips curled into a sharp grin. A madman's grin.

"By 'mercy'... do you mean the death you're about to serve me now?"

"Yes." Her voice remained even. "But the pain will be lost."

That only made Heinrich laugh harder.

"Kuhahaha! That doesn't make a difference, Saintess." He spat the word mockingly, his bloodstained teeth showing through his twisted smile. "Merciful or not, your strike harms the soul of the wicked. Pain is an absolute decree of your power… it is a punishment that lingers beyond death."

Emilia didn't respond immediately.

Instead, she simply… sighed.

A part of her had expected this. Men like him never spoke.

But it wasn't his words she was after now.

It was his screams.

Slowly, methodically, she raised her hand.

Divine energy crackled at her fingertips.

A bright, blinding light—pure, holy, merciless.

In her palm, she summoned a small, silver blade infused with divinity.

It gleamed softly, looking far too delicate for what she was about to do with it.

Heinrich's breath hitched.

He understood immediately.

Torture.

Not through crude means—not through steel and fire.

But through divine energy itself.

For them, for those tainted by the abyss… divine power was poison.

But it was a peculiar kind of poison.

One that didn't just burn.

One that healed.

Healed… and hurt.

And Emilia knew exactly how much pain a body could take before it broke completely.

She turned the blade over in her hand, watching as its light pulsed in response to her mana.

"You're right," she finally said, lifting her gaze back to him.

"I do not offer painless deaths to the wicked."

"But I do offer purification."

Heinrich's nervous smile twitched as he locked eyes with the saintess.

For the first time in a long, long while, he felt fear.

It was an alien emotion to him.

He had always been the one pulling the strings, the one orchestrating suffering rather than receiving it.

And yet, here he was—a man standing before his executioner.

A saintess whose mercy was far crueler than death.

Even if he tried to end himself now, he knew.

She wouldn't let him.

She had the means to keep him alive just long enough—just enough to strip him of his defiance, piece by piece, breath by breath, until there was nothing left of him but a hollowed-out husk.

His fate was sealed.

Pain was inevitable.

That was the cold-blooded truth of his situation.

But did it even matter?

A thought flickered through his mind, and suddenly, his lips curled back into a manic grin.

"Kuahahaha!" He threw his head back, laughing wildly, his voice hoarse with madness.

"Do whatever you want to me, Saintess! It won't change a thing!"

His eyes gleamed with dark amusement, his breath quick and ragged, his own terror fueling his insanity.

"Our plans are already in motion! The great being is coming! And the darkness will once again rule this world!"

His voice rose, filled with raw conviction, a fanatic's final desperate cry.

"All of you—fucking slaves to the Goddess—will soon witness true power! You think yourselves holy, righteous?"

He spat blood onto the floor, his smile never faltering.

**"You're nothing more than cattle for slaughter! This academy? It's nothing more than an offering—a grand altar for the Great One's descent!

His eyes burned with zealous fervor.

"And you, Saintess…?" His lips curled wider.

"You are one of those offerings."

"All of you trash are joining the great being whether you like it or not—"

Heinrich wanted to continue, wanted to see the look on her face as he painted the future with his words—

But then—

—FOOOOSH!!!

His breath caught in his throat.

His voice was stolen.

Something… heavy. Unfathomable.

A crushing, suffocating presence descended upon the world.

Both he and Emilia froze, their bodies stiffening, their instincts screaming at them to turn.

Turn towards the source.

And so they did.

For vastly different reasons, their bodies trembled.

For vastly different reasons, their souls shuddered.

It was not just them.

Every living thing in the academy that wielded divine or demonic energy felt it.

A pressure so immense, so overwhelming, that it pressed into the marrow of their bones, threatening to erase their very existence.

A power beyond the mortal realm had suddenly appeared.

Heinrich's lips parted. His throat was dry.

His mind reeled, struggling to comprehend what he was sensing, what he was feeling.

'It couldn't be.'

'It couldn't be.'

Both of them thought at the same time...

"G-Goddess…?" he choked out, his breath shaky, his voice betraying him. His entire body trembled, not out of reverence, but out of pure, primal dread.

"Goddess…" A word slipped from Emilia's lips as well, almost instinctively—almost against her will.

Her heart pounded. Her thoughts blurred.

Was it truly her?

Was it truly—

BOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!

A massive explosion of golden light tore through the academy's commercial district.

The sky burned. The ground quaked.

The world, in that moment, trembled.