Chapter 60 | Please Kill Me, Lady Saintess

“Civilizations possess two different coefficients of evolution at the same time.”

“Based on the resources invested by a civilization, a corresponding calculation and integration are performed, followed by highly complex operations.”

“After the magical beasts disrupted the world's balance, the scholars of the Tower of Stars began focusing their research on these two resources. Eventually, they came up with something called the ‘Monsk value’... Shetiel, are you listening?”

Sunlight shone upon the girl's long pink hair. Her serious, slightly admonishing yet affectionate gaze made her look like a gentle teacher. She wore a magic academy uniform, and the scent of tea leaves still lingered on her shawl.

The tea house was quiet, though through the glass, one could see the bustling street outside, filled with people coming and going.

Sitting across from her, Shetiel smirked foolishly as she toyed with her long, ash-gray hair, a slight blush rising on her bright, lively face. “Mhm, of course I know, Senior!”

“Ah, if I'd known, I would have never become an Astral Sage. You're the worst batch of apprentice Saintesses I've ever taught.”

The girl addressed as “Senior” rubbed her temples.

“In short, whether it's the armies formed by the resources invested in this world, the Paladin Legion, or powerful Sword Saints, their combat strength will always remain within a constant range. That is the ‘Monsk coefficient.’”

“Wow~” Shetiel wore an expression of great surprise.

Without worrying about whether the little girl in front of her actually understood, the senior continued her explanation:

“So, to be precise, your Saintess program exists to break the ‘Monsk coefficient.’ By investing a constant amount of resources, it aims to create an individual close to a ‘god.’”

“That's amazing!”

Immediately after, her senior glanced at Shetiel, looking at the thick book in her hands. “But that is almost impossible. Your father is a Sword Saint, right? Growing from a mere soldier into a powerful swordsman, surviving every battle by chance, being knighted, and then winning numerous titles, rewards, and participating in many competitions...”

“Mhm~”

“Your father is outstanding, but even he has not broken the so-called ‘Monsk coefficient.’ He, too, is a defined individual whose growth was built on the corpses of countless soldiers. Even if he dies, another individual will replace him as the Sword Saint.”

“And precisely because the ‘Monsk coefficient’ exists, humanity's fight against magical beasts will always be a brutal subject.”

At this point, the innocent smile on Shetiel's face vanished, gradually replaced by sorrow.

“Don't you think we're all so pitiable, Senior Isobel?”

“...” Isobel put down her book. At this moment, the barrier between them as teacher and student seemed to vanish.

“Everyone is defined by so-called values and coefficients. Everyone is calculated as a resource. Is this really okay?”

“This is a necessary step for the survival of civilization.”

Isobel fell silent for a long time. She turned her head and looked out at the bustling street outside the window.

“Yes...”

“This is truly terrible.”

...

Suddenly, the scene before Shetiel's eyes shifted rapidly. Her memories of Isobel immediately jumped to a narrow, dark room.

Four young girls sat around a table, discussing the same topic.

“The Church is making us slaughter one another. Is death the only path for those who are eliminated?”

“Then why on earth should we participate in the Saintess Selection!”

They were all apprentice Saintesses, and by this stage of the selection, only the four most powerful of them remained.

However, as they competed in the tasks assigned by the Pope, even resorting to unscrupulous means to kill each other, they gradually realized that this seemed to be an endless, brutal struggle. And at the end of this struggle, only death awaited.

By this time, Shetiel had lost her innocence of the past. Her eyes now held the distinct temperament and dignity of a noble young lady.

“Yes. That's why I gathered you all. We should escape, rather than becoming puppets for that Saintess position!”

“What about Teacher Isobel?” asked one of the apprentice Saintesses named Nayuan.

“She's in a chaotic state due to internal Church affairs and can't offer us assistance for the time being, but I promise you, she will help us.”

The apprentice Saintesses looked at each other and nodded, offering sincere encouragement to one another.

After stepping out of this hidden, narrow space, they would go their separate ways, parting on different paths. They would pretend to remain at each other's throats while searching for a fresh opportunity to escape together.

But would they really get what they wished for?

That day, Shetiel thought about many things, and she made up her mind to fight the Church to the bitter end.

Then, the scene jumped to that night.

It was a battle in the eastern mountains of the Kingdom of Lystra—or rather, a “crusade” disguised as a battle.

This crusade had no name, for once it was over, it was completely erased from history.

That day, all the Saintesses were buried in the dirt. They had been monitored at every waking moment, and a single accidental exposure had led to their discovery by the Church's inner circle.

The Cardinals immediately abolished the Saintess Selection and launched a brutal, inhumane crusade against them.

Shetiel still remembered dying under a tree. Having lost too much blood, she could no longer hold on.

She could still faintly recall the “Monsk coefficient.”

In the eyes of the Church, she and the deceased Saintesses were all “failed products.”

But the Saintesses were innocent. They were all lovely girls. Why...

Why did the Church have to lay its hands on them?

The Church and humanity are both “wrong.”

Who knew how much time had passed; the dead could not perceive its flow.

She awoke.

Upon waking, she found that the world had changed.

A flawless world of perfect black and white.

Yes, this world was meant to be so pure, without a single blemish or excessive decoration—only the most pristine black and white. But what were those tiny red flowers that suddenly sprouted from the white ground?

They were growing vigorously, attempting to corrode this world.

Shetiel stepped forward and pulled them up by their roots.

Only when those red flowers were crushed in her hands did she nod in satisfaction.

Yet these little flowers seemed endless. Pull up one, and another cluster would appear.

Until, countless tiny red flowers surrounded her completely.

“It's a magical beast!”

“Lystrans will never be destroyed by monsters! We don't need the Church's hypocritical reinforcements!”

“Charge!”

That day, she was swallowed by the red flowers. It was painful, so painful.

She was killed. Before she died, she seemed to see this ugly world clearly once more—it was not some pure world of black and white at all. Instead, it was a horde of roaring, shouting soldiers waging a tug-of-war battle against her, a magical beast, eventually defeating and killing her once again.