Taming The Villainesses

Chapter 438: The One Who Halts (13)

In the Saint’s eyes, a demon king was sealed.

Its name was Agares.

One of the four Great Incantations—Ars Nova—created by the Demon King Solomon, though its exact abilities and dangers remained unknown.

━O-Originally, Ars Nova entities like myself gain even greater strength depending on the vessel’s resilience and... mental fortitude...

According to Professor Balan, a Great Incantation manifested greater power the stronger its host’s body or mind was.

Just think of Bael, who once lurked within Ayra’s heart. There was hardly any need to explain how powerful Ayra became once she fused with Bael.

In that sense, whatever powers the Saint Priga wielded, with the demon Agares sealed inside her Nightfall, there was no doubt it would be dangerously potent.

Originally, Priga was the figure who, at the major turning point between the middle and final parts of the story, had presented the protagonist’s party with a crisis. Her threat was no less—and certainly no smaller—than that of the Witch Queen Ayra.

Crackle, crackle.

Ayra and Priga stood so close that their chests almost touched.

"......."

"......."

Though neither spoke, the force radiating between them distorted even the scenery of the surrounding flower fields, creating an explosive tension that could detonate at any moment.

In the midst of this powder keg, I turned again to the mother and child, trying to make the best choice possible.

"Hurry, Beatrice! Take the child and retreat!"

However.

The nymph Trish—or rather, Beatrice—did not listen to me. Instead, she growled lowly, as if raising her guard even more against me.

"I never told you that name. Who the hell are you?"

"That’s..."

Trish.

Even from that slight name, I could quickly deduce that Beatrice was a nickname for her. After all, she looked exactly like the woman in the two framed pictures I possessed.

That’s right.

She was the nymph whom the Demon King Solomon had dearly cherished—and at the same time, she was Isaiah’s wife, Beatrice. I desperately wanted to know how the Demon King’s treasured nymph, once thought dead, had become Isaiah’s wife, and what kind of farewell she would have with the half-fairy child.

But there was no time now to explain all of that.

"I’ll explain later. For now—run!"

"......."

Trish looked at me with a face full of suspicion.

However, the small half-fairy, having woken up at some point, trembled in fear and tugged at her clothes. Perhaps moved by that, Beatrice, as a mother, decided to escape first.

"I knew it. We should never have come to a place like this."

Saying that, she turned her head sharply and stepped forward as if to leave immediately.

"Uh...?"

But soon, she let out a strange noise and froze in place as if nailed to the ground, unable to move a muscle. It was almost like she was miming being frozen in place, and I couldn’t help but blurt out,

"What are you doing!? Hurry up and run!"

"I know! But my legs won't move! What the hell is this!?"

Your legs won't move? Startled by the unexpected situation, I hurriedly turned my head—and saw Saint Priga standing with her hand extended toward Trish.

"No one can escape from me. The power dwelling in me is of that sort. No one can flee from Saint Priga’s gaze."

At that moment—

"Ah...!"

Someone let out a startled voice.

"My legs... my legs won't move...!"

Elga, as if her soles had been glued to the ground, struggled to move but couldn’t. She even tried grabbing {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} her own thigh to pull herself free.

"What the hell is this!"

But she remained stuck fast.

Apparently, Mirna, Narmee, and Stella were experiencing the same thing. All of them frowned and struggled in bewilderment at the sudden sensation of being frozen in place.

The only one who remained composed was Saint Priga.

"I didn’t want to impose force. After all, human beings are supposed to have free will. But if a child tries to touch burning fire—sometimes you have to raise the rod."

It was clear now that Saint Priga had used "some ability" to bind us.

Still, there was one small mercy...

━Hi-oong.

Yes—my body could move.

Whether her strange ability simply didn’t work on me, or whether she had intentionally excluded me, I didn’t know. But my legs still moved freely.

━Fairy’s Step!

Fwoosh.

I quickly dashed between the noble ladies.

Then, spreading out a wide mana shield, I prepared to defend against any unforeseen impact.

━Aegis!

Sensing this, Saint Priga began to mutter, "As expected, against Solomon’s child, it won’t work—" but before she could finish—

BOOM—!

A fierce shockwave swept through the flower field.

***

A tremendous impact shook the world.

Had I not deployed a Seventh-Rank defensive magic, both myself, the young ladies, and the nymph Trish with the child might have been swept away by that shockwave.

"Kh...!"

Even so, the shock was powerful enough to be felt even through the shield, and I had to brace my ankles firmly just to avoid being blown away.

Whoooosh—.

As the shockwave died down, and the flower petals that had been whipped up fluttered back down to the ground like snow—

"Oh, m-my legs are moving!"

Elga shouted brightly.

"My legs are moving! What the hell was that!?"

She checked her legs this way and that. Beyond her shoulder, I could see Ayra, her hair standing slightly on end. The explosion just now must have been caused by Ayra releasing her mana in a sudden burst.

Saint Priga, who had taken the brunt of the blast at point-blank range, had been blown far away and crashed into the flower field.

Had she been an ordinary human, she would have burst apart like a crushed ant from that impact and died without question.

Yet even though she had been blown away, her limbs remained intact—proof that Saint Priga’s body possessed durability far beyond that of normal humans.

Was it because her body was an artificial one, crafted from blood and earth, that it was tougher?

Rustle.

"To attack so suddenly—."

From amidst the swirling petals, Saint Priga slowly rose to her feet.

Her headdress, which had covered her hair, had been torn off by the explosion, letting her thick pink hair cascade down over her shoulders like a shawl.

It was a striking sight—but what seized everyone’s attention more than anything was that the eyepatch covering her face had also been torn away.

Her now-revealed eyes shone like a strange cosmos. Looking at those eyes, filled with countless twinkling stars, brought to mind beautifully crafted marbles.

As a brief silence passed—

Swipe.

The Saint touched her face.

"N-no..."

Unlike her usual composed self, she showed visible distress. Perhaps she had not expected her face to be revealed?

"This is bad...! The seal's eyepatch...! Queen Ayra, do you have any idea what you’ve just done!? You selfish, foolish woman...!"

Saint Priga’s face twisted into a ferocious scowl. As I had felt once with Ayra—when a beautiful woman scowled with anger, the sheer force of it was overwhelming.

However, Ayra looked quite unbothered.

"Calling me a fool? For someone revered as the Church’s Saint, isn’t that rather unbecoming?"

"Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch...!"

The moment Priga unleashed such crude language, we were all stunned. It seemed she herself was just as shocked, fidgeting and flustered.

"A-ah, no! I’m not saying this of my own will! Mmgh—."

She hastily shoved her own fist into her mouth in an attempt to block the words.

"D-damn it...!"

But her body trembled violently, and harsh curses kept slipping out in a most awkward fashion.

It was like a naïve maiden, newly exposed to vulgar speech, awkwardly trying to imitate the thuggish language of street vagrants.

"Blockhead...! Ah, ah—I’m speaking such vile words...! God, forgive me...!"

What the hell is she doing now?

Could this be some kind of side effect tied to her being an Ars Nova? Compared to Ayra’s tyrant-mode, where her personality turned harsh and cruel, Priga’s situation seemed almost cute.

Though to Priga herself, it looked anything but bearable.

"Against my will, I’m spouting immoral words! Don’t just stand there—find the eyepatch! We have to reseal it—now—!"

Saint Priga was sweating cold sweat.

Although her “immoral words” so far were just "blockhead" and "damn it," so it didn’t feel particularly threatening. Perhaps it was because she was so fundamentally pure and ascetic—a person called a Saint.

At that moment, Priga cried out.

"Quickly! Find it! If you don’t, the severity will keep escalating...!"

"W-what the hell!"

Stella shouted, clearly panicking. As she moved stiffly, like an automaton in need of oiling, Narmee beside her let out a strange shriek.

"Sis! Teo! M-my body is moving on its own! What is this!?"

Moving on its own?

Was this also Agares’s power!?

The relatively calm Mirna spoke up.

"It must be a Word of Command. But... I’ve never heard of one capable of forcing people's bodies so strongly. Perhaps this is the power of an Ars Nova..."

Mirna’s theory made sense. A power that imbues words and commands with coercive force. Maybe that was how the Saint had even implanted a suggestion in me—"Do not cross the door."

Suddenly, a chill ran down the back of my neck. The Saint had confessed that, due to Agares sealed within her, she involuntarily spouted curses.

And the longer it continued, the more extreme it would get.

Curses—swearing—were a kind of magic, capable of souring someone’s spirit.

If the curses Priga might soon utter became imbued with Agares’s coercive force...

Coming to that realization, I hurriedly searched for her eyepatch among the surroundings. But perhaps due to the powerful blast—or maybe it had simply flown far away—the eyepatch was nowhere to be found.

While I was anxiously glancing around, I saw the Saint slowly lower the hand that had been covering her mouth.

From her eyes—those cosmic eyes—two streams of silvery tears fell, carving strange trails down her face.

『Ah... it's too late. The sun and moon have lost their light, and only darkness shall remain in this world... We shall all die.』

At those ominous words from the Saint—

Whoooo—

The sky around us darkened in an instant.

In this land where time was supposed not to exist, the flowers of the field withered and crumbled into dust in the blink of an eye.