In the quiet room, Aurelia lay on the soft, luxurious bed.
Ronan, that infuriating man, seemed to have absolutely no interest in her. After dropping her off in this room, he had left without sparing her another glance.
Aurelia let out a sigh of relief; at least her chastity was intact. However, a deep sense of humiliation welled up inside her. She started doubting her own charm for the first time in her life.
Her golden eyes flickered as she turned her head toward where Ronan had gone. He was hiding behind the screen, and she had no idea what he was doing. Occasionally, she could hear his excited voice and see flashes of white light emanating from behind the screen.
Aurelia's pale face grew even whiter. Was Ronan preparing some kind of "special tools" to torment her?
Whips? Candles?
These inappropriate thoughts swirled in her naive mind. Aurelia, a pure and innocent nun, had once accidentally stumbled upon a scandalous scene between a bishop and a nun. Since then, she had naively believed that all such encounters involved these tools, and the idea terrified her.
Meanwhile, Ronan's excited exclamations reached the ears of the Eternal Freedom cultists outside.
Expressions grew strange on their faces.
"It seems our leader is having quite the time," one murmured, smirking.
They assumed Aurelia must have been thoroughly "dealt with," given the lack of further sounds from her.
"Lucky man," another added enviously.
Suddenly, a low rumble began to shake the streets.
The ground trembled with the sound of approaching footsteps. Around the Eternal Freedom sect's branch building, armored figures began to gather.
They wore shining silver armor, reflecting the cold moonlight. Each chest bore the emblem of the rising sun—symbolizing the Order of the Dawn, a faction of the Dawn Goddess' church.
Hundreds of knights surrounded the building. At their forefront stood a tall, imposing man, clad in armor inlaid with golden threads. His stature—at least six feet tall—radiated power and authority.
This was Herman, Aurelia's fiancé.
His face was anything but composed. Red-rimmed eyes filled with rage glared at the cultists. His every breath seemed to fan the flames of fury burning within.
The Eternal Freedom sect members initially looked surprised to see Herman arrive. But soon, their shock turned into twisted amusement.
Outnumbered as they were, the cultists did not show a hint of fear. For them, death was just a path back to their god's embrace.
Pleasure and pain alike were offerings to their deity of unshackled freedom.
One of the cult's senior members stepped forward. His name was Dawn Farrokh, second in command at this branch.
Once a candidate for leadership, Dawn had lost the position to Ronan, who had been appointed directly by their central order. This had left him bitterly resentful, seething with suppressed hatred toward Ronan.
Dawn spoke, his tone laced with sarcasm:
"Ah, esteemed Knight-Captain Herman, you've finally graced us with your presence." He clasped his hands mockingly over his chest and gave an exaggerated bow.
Then he smiled, his voice dripping with malice.
"Your fiancée is... inside. Having an intimate discussion with our leader."
A pause.
"Perhaps, by now, she's already carrying his child. Have you thought of any names yet? After all, she is your fiancée."
Herman visibly flinched, trembling as if struck. His face twisted into an expression of unrestrained fury, and the knights behind him exchanged pitying glances.
This only deepened Herman's humiliation. His honor as a knight, his dignity as a noble, and his pride as a man—all were shredded in that instant.
The cultists snickered at his misery, savoring his torment.
"The poor man," one muttered mockingly.
Behind the screen, Ronan had just finished enhancing his equipment to the maximum level. Each piece glowed with vibrant energy, but Ronan calmly suppressed the radiance, ensuring they looked ordinary.
He heard the commotion outside but merely chuckled.
The power boost from his fully enhanced gear made him confident enough to handle any danger.
Walking out from behind the screen, he approached Aurelia, who was still bound. Her face had turned deathly pale, believing that Ronan was finally about to harm her.
Instead, Ronan grabbed the chains and, with a soft crack, broke them effortlessly.
"Beautiful nun," he said with a smile, "I apologize for putting you through this. I must emphasize—I was forced into this situation."
"I have no intention of harming you."
"And now... you are free."
Then he added casually, "Your fiancé is here."
Aurelia, confused but relieved, hesitated for a moment before smiling shyly.
"Thank you for your integrity. The Dawn Goddess will forgive all who find their way back to the righteous path," she said before hurrying toward the door, her face flushed with happiness.
But her long period of confinement had left her limbs weak, and she stumbled.
Ronan instinctively reached out, catching her around the waist.
Her thin nun's robes did little to block the warmth and softness of her skin. For a moment, her slender figure pressed against him—a sensation Ronan couldn't entirely ignore.
"Th-thank you," Aurelia stammered, then froze.
A strange warmth spread across her leg where it brushed against Ronan. Startled, she tried to pull away.
At that exact moment, the door burst open with a resounding crash.
Silence fell.
Knights, cultists, and Herman alike stared at the scene before them.
Aurelia stood in Ronan's embrace, her robes disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
The sight painted a damning picture in everyone's minds.
Even a fool could see what it implied.
"Was it... standing up the whole time?" someone muttered.
Herman's face turned an alarming shade of green, then blue with rage.
The broken chains on the bed only deepened his humiliation. To his horror, there was no trace of anger or sorrow on Aurelia's face. Instead, there was... happiness.
Dawn Farruk's voice cut through the heavy silence, full of mockery:
"Herman, your fiancée seems quite... satisfied."
"Perhaps you... aren't enough for her?"
Herman's knuckles turned white as he gripped his sword. He ignored Aurelia's attempts to explain, focusing all his fury on Ronan.
"You die here," Herman growled.
The cultists smiled cruelly, eager for Ronan's death to create an opening for their own ambitions.
Herman lunged forward, his blade glowing red-hot with holy power. Knights and cultists alike held their breath, waiting for Ronan to be skewered.
But as the sword neared Ronan's chest, a metallic screech rang out. Sparks flew as two fingers—Ronan's—clamped onto the blade, stopping it dead.
Ronan glanced at Herman, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Is that all you've got?"