Am I going to be controlled by the players too?

Freya gritted her teeth and placed one hand on Sylvia's barren chest:

"The Eye of the Wind King".

A fist-sized whirlwind suddenly expanded between the two of them, then instantly burst into a gale!

"boom--!"

A violent storm suddenly erupted, and Sylvia was thrown into the air, tumbling twice before her toes touched the ground and she slid more than three meters away, leaving two charred scratches on the stone slab.

The next moment, she pounced on Freya like a hungry wolf!

fast!

too fast!

Freya didn't even have time to stand up before the white figure was already right in front of her!

The sword of benevolence sliced ​​through the air, trailing black flames, and aimed straight for her neck!

Freya turned to the side—

The sword's edge grazed her cheek, severing a few strands of hair, and the heat made her skin sting!

Before she could even catch her breath, the second sword strike had already arrived!

No, not the second sword—

It was countless swords!

The sword lights wove together a dense, impenetrable net, descending from all directions. Every sword strike was aimed at vital points, each one swift and ruthless, carrying with it a blasphemous flame!

What kind of swordsmanship is this?!

Freya dodged, retreated, and rolled in a disheveled manner, nearly being sliced ​​by the sword several times. A section of her skirt had already been cut off, revealing her fair calves.

And Sylvia—

Sylvia was even fighting unconsciously.

She was completely out of her mind, and in her dazed state, her body instinctively tilted the sword slightly, allowing the sunlight to shine through the blade and reflect directly into Freya's eyes!

Freya was momentarily blinded by the sword light, and her eyes narrowed instinctively, but her hands did not stop moving.

Although she didn't know why Sylvia wanted to kill her, the combat experience she had gained over the past few months was enough for her to retaliate!

"Forbidden Wind Spirit is created!"

She formed a hand seal, and the surrounding air began to stir. Wisps of blue wind gathered from all directions, coalescing into semi-transparent humanoid figures around Sylvia.

Wind Spirit.

As soon as the wind spirits took shape, they immediately pounced on Sylvia, wrapping their invisible bodies around her limbs, waist, and neck!

Drag and drop!

Pull!

Restraint!

Sylvia's movements suddenly froze, her sword strike abruptly interrupted!

"Embrace of the Wind!"

Freya opened her arms, and the wind spirits within a hundred meters seemed to hear a command, changing their course at the same time—they no longer drifted aimlessly, but instead rushed toward Freya!

The wind surged in from all directions, lifting her petite body up lightly until she was more than ten meters in the air, looking down at the white-haired girl trapped by the wind spirit on the ground.

call--

Freya let out a long breath, and her heart, which had been hanging in mid-air, finally returned to her chest.

That was close.

Very risky.

I almost died just now.

Sylvia somehow became a late-stage Silver Swordsman—that kind of swordsmanship, that kind of reaction speed, that kind of combat instinct, could not have been developed overnight!

Why did she want to kill me?

She definitely discovered my identity—and she still dared to assassinate me after discovering my identity? Does the Claire family want to declare war on the royal family?

Freya couldn't understand it.

She didn't have time to figure it out.

She produced several ice bullets in her hand, her eyes fixed on Sylvia on the ground, while glancing around—passersby had already stopped and were watching the scene with astonishment.

He certainly couldn't actually fight Claire's daughter to the death in the street, but with the fight going on like this, the people around would have called the police long ago.

Knowing that his identity could not be exposed, he had to escape and hide as soon as possible, and could not linger in the fight.

Let's keep Sylvia here so she can't move, then run away quickly!

Thinking this, Freya raised her hand, preparing to cast a few more binding spells—

Then she froze.

Sylvia, who was on the ground, looked up at her.

All that murderous intent, that madness, that chilling smile—it all vanished.

Instead, a look of confusion appeared on their faces.

And extreme indifference.

"Freya?"

She tilted her head, her tone eerily calm: "What are you doing here? Didn't we agree that you weren't allowed to run around at home?"

Chapter 42, Newcomer Training - Freya, the Fallen Princess

Theocracy.

Imprisonment.

That was the oldest prison of the Church of the City Builders, founded by the God of Amber himself. The prison was divided into nine levels, with the first eight levels holding the world's most fanatical blasphemers, esoteric cultists, heretical gold, and even the devil himself.

And at this moment, on the ninth floor, in the deepest part—

After many years, the prophetic saintess Serafina, who wields the "Wheel of Fortune," once again stepped into this place.

The stone steps leading to the ninth floor stretched downwards, with torches on both sides flickering in the unseen wind, their light dimming as Serafina silently counted her steps.

Until the thousandth step, the stone steps came to an end.

Before me was a circular, domed hall, the dome so high it was invisible, and in the center of the hall floated a prison cell.

The prison was formed from pure holy light, with transparent walls of light on all four sides, each engraved with a triple-nested magic array, slowly rotating. And at the deepest part of the prison sat a person.

That was once the messenger of the Amber God, now a "sinner." A legend imprisoned for committing grave sins, wielding the "Devil" card—

Judas.

Contrary to what outsiders might imagine, he was a young man who looked to be no more than twenty years old.

He wore a simple white prison robe, the hem slightly wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a section of pale wrist. His short black hair hung casually over his forehead, a few strands obscuring his eyebrows and eyes, but unable to conceal his gentle, jade-like eyes.

Those eyes gazed at the saintess outside the prison, a faint smile playing on them, as if she were waiting for an old friend.

Gentle and elegant.

This is anyone's first impression of him.

That gentleness wasn't the fake smile trained in aristocratic social settings, nor the reserved tolerance of a scholar facing the ignorant; rather, it was a pure kindness that emanated from his very bones, as if everything in the world was beautiful in his eyes and deserved to be treated with tenderness.

Serafina walked to the front of the cell and met his gaze through the shimmering light barrier.

"Long time no see, junior brother," she said. "Help me investigate someone. I'm curious about what she's thinking right now."

"Who?"

“Sylvia, Sylvia de Claire.”

Several days have passed since the "prophecy" was used on Sylvia during the audience.

The blindness caused by the backlash of her power has not yet healed—but as someone who can perceive the future at any time, the unseen "unknown" is full of allure for her, and curiosity drives her to want to get closer to Sylvia and learn more about her.

But the investigation into Sylvia cannot stop until the official lifting of the ban, and that is why she came to see Judas—his power allows him to see and perceive anyone's desires and thoughts without leaving his house, and to amplify the corresponding desires of others until a disaster is triggered.

"I can't feel it."

After a long while, Judas spoke, his voice very soft, like a breeze.

"I can't sense Sylvia's thoughts at all. I can only sense some of her emotions."

"Oh? What emotion?"

Judas closed his eyes, as if carefully discerning those distant, vague signals: "Some confusion, some determination, a touch of sadness, a hint of joy..."

He suddenly opened his eyes, a glint of light flashing in his gentle eyes.

"There's still a little bit of romance."

Serafina was stunned.

"Romance?"

"Ah."

"To whom?"

Judas shook his head, a few strands of hair swaying gently with the movement: "I don't know. That's all I can sense."

As he spoke, he suddenly laughed, a laugh filled with a pure, heartfelt joy.

"Love...love..." he murmured to himself, "What a beautiful emotion. Just a trace of it contains so much joy and shyness, hesitation and determination, possessiveness and altruism coexisting. How magical, how wonderful..."

Serafina looked at him, a sudden sense of foreboding washing over her: "Wait, you wouldn't—"

"Hmm." Judas nodded, a hint of smugness in his smile. "I just amplified her love life a bit."

Serafina's eyes widened suddenly.

“In that case,” Judas said, his voice filled with anticipation, “she will face her feelings squarely and bravely pursue that love, ultimately creating a beautiful love story…”

He raised his head and looked at the saintess outside the prison. Her gentle face held a childlike pride: "Senior sister, you always say that I only know how to cause trouble. But look, didn't I do a good deed?"