Chapter 25: Veil of Corruption – (4)
When I arrived, the conference room was already a war zone.
Dozens of holes—big and small—pockmarked the inner walls. Desks, including the one at the chairperson’s seat, were scattered in pieces across the room. The roof? Long gone. The sky was clearly visible through the gaping hole above.
To make matters worse, a monster as tall as a small building stood smack in the middle of the room. And perched on its shoulder was the woman I’d seen just the other day.
It had only been a moment ago that I pulled Millia from being flattened like a dried fish snack by that monster’s fist.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Probably.”
I frowned, eyeing Millia’s condition. Just looking at her hurt.
Honestly, the fact that she was still alive was a miracle. Her body was covered in bruises, blood trickled from her lips, and one arm was bent at an angle so unnatural it looked straight out of a gore film.
But despite the obvious pain, Millia didn’t show a hint of discomfort. She wore it like it was familiar.
“Just rest. For now.”
“…Thanks.”
She gave me a slight nod. I returned it with one of my own and carefully set her down in a corner of the room.
Haa.
I turned back toward the monster—and the woman riding it.
A black-haired beauty who commanded this liquid shadow-like creature like it was a loyal servant.
She had given me so many clues, it would be weirder not to recognize her now.
I had my suspicions, but now I was certain.
“Arwen.”
I spoke her name aloud.
Arwen—Apostle of Corruption.
She’s a boss character from Act 4, one of five apostles serving the Evil god in the cult.
Known for her complex patterns, cruel clear conditions, and a web of branching dead ends, she was the kind of boss that made players curse out loud.
Jokingly, she was considered one of the “Three Major Walls” in Raising the Empress.
And here she was—this infamous Act 4 boss—showing up in Act 1.
To put it plainly: I was screwed.
“You called my name? How sweet.”
Arwen replied with playful nonchalance.
Sepia obediently lowered her shoulder until it touched the ground, allowing her to descend slowly. She opened her arms wide as if welcoming a long-lost pet.
“Escoval. My loyal puppy. Come here.”
“Who the hell are you calling a dog?”
I raised my sword, voice sharp.
A flicker of surprise passed over Arwen’s face.
“…I was going to let it slide, but that’s a bit much, don’t you think? Still… mm, well. I suppose this too is a master’s duty.”
As if convincing herself, she nodded and pulled out a gold pendant hanging from her chest. She dangled it in the air like it was some sort of toy.
The look on her face was bright, as if she were enjoying a game.
“The pact. You’re really going to reject it? You know how absolute it is.”
“…”
I didn’t know the full details of this so-called “pact.”
It was a burden from the pre-possession version of Freud—whether he agreed to it voluntarily or was forced into it, he ended up aiding the cult and ultimately stabbing Lincia. It was a behind-the-scenes event never directly shown in the game.
But the moment I saw that pendant, my heart started pounding like crazy.
Clearly, for Freud, this pact was a matter of life and death.
Still… just because it had to be followed, didn’t mean I was going to follow it.
I had to save Lincia.
Even now, the quest window floating at the edge of my vision confirmed it.
Then…
“I refuse.”
“…What?”
“The pact is off.”
Screw it. I said it.
What’s done is done. Or rather, what’s been written is already in motion.
Right now, survival is all that matters. I’ll deal with the fallout later.
Arwen’s hand trembled as she clutched the pendant.
“…Escoval. Are you betraying me?”
“Betraying you?”
I swung my sword wide, steadying my stance.
A faint thread of mana gathered at the tip of the blade.
It wasn’t anything grand, but enough to reinforce the sword. The result of effort—and more than that, this sword’s high mana responsiveness.
I narrowed my eyes and declared:
“I’m not your damn dog.”
Arwen stood frozen, the pendant slipping from her fingers.
****
“You are Escoval. You can’t defy me.”
Arwen muttered.
Yes. That’s how it was supposed to be.
“……”
But the knight standing before her gave no response.
Still, the hand gripping his sword didn’t waver—unyielding, aimed straight at her.
This wasn’t the Freud she knew.
The Freud she remembered was a man who constantly wrestled with his conscience, resisted only to ultimately yield to fate—her obedient, pitiful little dog.
After leading the cult for so long, Arwen had grown numb to most things. Nothing thrilled her anymore. Nothing held her interest.
Well, almost nothing.
Watching someone struggle with anguish—that was always entertaining. Especially when that someone was Freud Escoval, the imperial guardian knight.
So what had gone wrong?
Now that she thought about it, Freud had been acting strangely for a while.
Saving the princess during Foundation Day?
Killing Slane—even if that was due to faulty intel?
Failing to send regular reports? And now, raising his sword against his own master?
At first, she thought it was just a rebellious phase, like a pet acting out. Until recently, Freud had still felt like a timid little kitten, cowering under her shadow.
But facing him today, she could sense it—something was off. Subtly, but undeniably.
Arwen furrowed her brow.
“Escoval, I’ll ask you one more time. This is your last chance.”
She dangled the pendant again, her voice laced with suggestion.
“…Are you truly defying me?”
Rejecting the pact—was nothing short of suicide.
The fear etched into his bloodline should’ve been enough.
And she had trained him so thoroughly.
Yet Freud didn’t flinch.
His gaze was sharper than ever before.
And Arwen realized something terrifying.
That gaze—it wasn’t the same as the Freud she knew.
In those pale moonlit eyes burned an unshakable will.
Her smile vanished.
“…What is this? Are you serious? Why?”
She couldn’t understand it.
What had changed him so drastically?
Her Freud always obeyed—resentfully, perhaps, but he obeyed. When ordered to kneel, he knelt.
A knight drained of color and spirit, bent by her hand.
But now? There was color in him. A new hue she had never given.
It was deeply… offensive.
“Who did this to you?”
Arwen trembled with fury.
“I don’t get it. I know you. The Escoval I know is righteous—but weak. Proud—but lonely. And above all… a coward. You’re afraid of me. Aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“…Shut up!”
She deliberately raised her voice, booming across the ruined chamber.
Now was the moment he should flinch—lower his head, tail tucked.
But Freud, while clearly affected, didn’t move an inch. He stood firm. And it was clear: he wasn’t afraid of her anymore.
Then, as if putting together a puzzle, Arwen reached her own conclusion.
“…It’s her, isn’t it? Airen.”
“What?”
“That last bloodline of Airen—that mongrel witch. She got to you, didn’t she? Sweet little words, a tender voice, and you rolled right over.”
Arwen had always been possessive.
Losing something she had marked as hers? The ultimate humiliation.
And among her many pets, Freud had been the most precious. The one she’d raised with the most care, effort, and pride.
And now he’d been stolen from her.
The fury that had nowhere to go found a target.
Lincia Airen.
“This is your final command,” she spat. “Kill Airen. Rip out her throat, tear her limb from limb! Fulfill the pact!”
“Nope.”
It was immediate. Blunt. Unapologetic.
Arwen snapped.
“Don’t you dare defy me!”
Vwoooom.
She gathered all the mana in her body.
Immense power surged through her veins, converging at her ingertips. Seeing that, Freud didn’t hesitate. He gripped his sword more firmly.
Was he really going to fight?
Arwen’s face twisted with frustration. So this was how it had to be. If that’s the case, then she would correct him—no matter the cost, even if he broke in the process.
“Grrruk.”
She issued a command to Sepia through thought alone. The massive creature let out a thunderous growl and unsheathed its razor-sharp claws.
“This is going to hurt a little. But endure it. This is necessary education.”
Arwen chanted a spell and reached out her hand.
From her pale fingertips, a vortex of pitch-black magic began to swirl.
Shhhhhh—
With a crashing wave of navy-colored energy, Sepia thundered forward, each step shaking the ground.
The combined attack surged forward mercilessly toward Freud—
“Hm?”
—but instead of swinging his sword, Freud pulled something from his coat.
Several black gemstones glinted with a pale, eerie light. Slotting them between his fingers, he hurled them out in all directions with a powerful sweep of his arm.
The dark stones scattered through the air, catching the light as they spun, casting sinister gleams across the battlefield.
And then Arwen recognized what they were.
“Spellstones?!”
BOOM—BOOM—KRRACK!!
Before she could even finish shouting, the gems exploded with deafening force.
The tidal wave of mana—and even Sepia—were all caught in the blast. Though each individual explosion wasn’t massive, the simultaneous detonation of multiple spellstones completely neutralized her assault.
From the epicenter of the blast, thick black fog began to spread.
A mist of decay—a familiar spell favored by the cult, and one Arwen herself often used.
It quickly filled the conference hall, cloaking everything in dense smoke. Visibility dropped to zero.
“You think this will stop me?!”
Arwen shouted, swinging her arm in frustration.
Sepia moved to shield her, just as ordered.
She knew exactly what this tactic was—cut off her vision, then aim for a blind spot.
Pretty clever… for someone like Freud. She almost wanted to applaud. But knowing that blade was meant for her? Infuriating.
She held her breath and heightened every sense.
She wasn’t just anyone—Arwen was a seasoned combatant, her perception far exceeding that of any ordinary human.
And in the thick fog behind her, she caught a glint—an unmistakable silver flash.
A dull, worn silver hue. Freud’s mana.
“Ha! Amateur!”
She gestured sharply—and Sepia, reacting instantly, reached out and caught the incoming strike.
With a satisfied smirk, Arwen turned her gaze toward what she expected would be Freud’s devastated expression after his failed ambush.
“…Huh?”
But what Sepia caught… was only the sword.
The wielder had vanished.
“…He threw it?”
Arwen froze in disbelief.
Freud? That stiff-necked, rule-bound man? Threw away his only weapon?
Nothing he did today made sense.
She wavered—just for a moment. Her thoughts in turmoil.
And in that exact moment, like it had been waiting for this pause, the mist ahead parted—
—and a gray knight came charging straight for her.
Shiiing—
What he held was a blue-glowing, curved dagger.
Its blade was enchanted using the cult’s own methods.
And Arwen realized—just a heartbeat too late—that it was the weapon favored by Slane, the Serpent’s Eye.
Shluck—
The blade plunged deep into her exposed chest.
****
“Ghh—urk.”
Arwen staggered backward.
Blood poured from her mouth and chest like a broken dam. The deep crimson stained her white robes as she reeled, clutching at the air.
“Kh… kaack… ngh, cough!—”
She tried to scream something—anything—but only choked gurgles came out. The steady stream of blood welling up from her throat made it impossible to understand a word.
Maybe that’s why Sepia didn’t move. Without hearing her command, the creature stood motionless, frozen in place like a statue.
A few seconds passed.
And then Arwen collapsed—slowly tipping backward before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
She lay sprawled out, arms splayed, eyes wide open and completely unfocused.
Motionless.
“Whew. Thought I was dead meat.”
Only then did I finally let out a breath of relief.
Somehow… somehow, I managed to take her down.
Maybe she’d gotten too worked up. Good thing she fell for the bluff just as I’d hoped.
“Glad I held onto these.”
I patted the small pouch tucked into my coat.
The spellstones I had swiped from Melina’s room.
They looked useful, so I grabbed a handful on a whim. Turns out, they really pulled their weight.
After this mess is over, I’m definitely going to ask Rowan to craft me a ton more.
“Now then…”
I glanced up through the shattered ceiling. The sky above the grand hall was still wrapped in a deep violet shroud.
Strange.
Normally, a barrier like that would fade once its caster was dead. And yet, it remained untouched.
I looked over at Arwen again.
She hadn’t moved a muscle. Everything about her screamed “corpse.”
“So that wasn’t enough, huh…”
She was one of the cult’s elite apostles. There’s no way someone like her would go down from just having her heart pierced. It was never going to be that easy.
She probably needed to be eliminated through some special method—something more permanent.
How did I defeat her in Act 4 again?
I was racking my brain for the answer when—
-Rustling.
Behind me.
It was Millia.
Dragging her wounded body forward, she came to my side, her breathing ragged.
She had watched everything unfold in silence—until now.
“Did you finish her off?”
“…Goddamn it.”
Couldn’t she have waited to ask?
Hissss—
As if on cue, black mana began to seep up from the ground, swirling slowly toward Arwen’s impaled chest.
“…Shit.”
---The End Of The Chapter---
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