Carne Village had become hell.
Bodies lay scattered across the dirt like discarded dolls. Flames licked the edges of homes. Smoke rolled across the sky.
And in the middle of it all, commanding the slaughter, stood a man named Beryus—a knight bearing the crest of the Slane Theocracy, though he masqueraded as a soldier of the Baharuth Empire.
He kicked aside the corpse of an older villager, cursing under his breath.
"Damn vermin… getting in my way."
The old man had thrown himself onto Beryus to protect his daughter—one of the girls who had escaped into the forest. The memory of the struggle—of how he'd shrieked for help in front of his own subordinates—twisted Beryus's pride like a knife.
The humiliation stung more than the villager's attempts at resistance.
If that brat's corpse comes back, he thought, grinding his teeth, I'll crush it right in front of this old man's body. That'll teach him.
His mood soured further when he realized something unusual.
"…Huh?"
All around the village, his subordinates had stopped moving.
Completely.
They stood frozen mid-strike―weapons half-raised, armor smeared with blood—staring slack-jawed in the same direction, as if time itself had halted.
"What are you lot doing?" Beryus barked.
But his accusation died in his throat.
Because the moment he followed their gaze—
he, too, fell silent.
A woman walked toward them from the direction of the forest.
Or rather, something that wore the shape of a woman.
Her beauty was so blinding it made the world seem drab by comparison.
A flowing white dress clung to her figure with effortless grace. The slit that ran up her thigh revealed skin so luminous it hardly seemed human. Every step she took felt deliberate, divine—an angel descending to earth.
Beryus's heart lurched.
"W-What… is she…?"
Her black hair shimmered.
Her lips curved like a cherry blossom petal.
Her golden eyes glowed with a gentle, serene radiance.
Everyone—knights, villagers, dying men—forgot the chaos around them.
They forgot the blood, the flames, the screams.
They saw only her.
Until they noticed the truth.
The horns rising from her head.
The midnight wings unfurling from her hips.
"A… a demon…?"
Someone whispered the word.
No one dared breathe afterward.
Wind brushed through the village; her hair danced.
The soft, sweet scent she carried reached them—something intoxicating enough to melt a man's reason.
Beryus's breath hitched.
His lower body reacted instantly, shamefully.
But the moment shattered when he screamed:
"YOU FOOLS! What are you standing around for?! Capture that monster—NOW!"
Spittle flew from his mouth. His voice cracked, shrill with greed.
"Don't harm her face! Or her body! Cut off her wings so she can't run, then BRING HER TO ME!"
Every knight understood the command.
Understood the filth behind it.
Understood the hunger in their commander's eyes.
And despite their fear, despite the trembling in their legs, the men shifted—hesitating, then slowly raising their weapons toward the woman.
Momonga watched them.
Her golden eyes narrowed.
"…Good," she whispered. "You're exactly the kind of filth I wanted for my first test."
The words were spoken too softly for human ears.
But her smile—her cold, delighted smile—said everything.
She reached into empty air.
And from nothingness, she drew a weapon longer than she was tall—
a massive battle-axe glowing with sickly green light, its blade humming with murderous intent.
The closest knight stumbled backward.
She shouldn't have been able to lift such a thing.
Not with her slender hands.
Not with that graceful, goddess-like frame.
And yet she twirled it lightly—like a baton.
"Capture me if you wish," Momonga said sweetly. "I won't stop you."
Her smile was beautiful enough to steal breath.
Then her axe flashed.
A single swing.
A single instant.
Four heads flew.
Helmets and all.
They burst upward like overripe fruit, blood geysering into the air. The bodies stood still for a heartbeat, then toppled as crimson rain spattered the ground.
Momonga lowered her weapon.
"Now then," she murmured. "Come at me from any direction you like."
None of the knights moved.
All that remained in their eyes was terror.