As the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden hues cast long shadows over Jola City’s port, still under construction but bustling with activity. A lone ship had begun docking, its dark silhouette outlined against the fading light. From the vessel emerged a group of priests clad in pristine white robes bearing the sigils of the Herptian Church. Behind them trailed a line of people in tattered clothing, their expressions hollow and movements sluggish, as if life itself had been drained from them.

  Ravenna’s carriage sped through the cobbled streets toward the port, flanked by a contingent of knights. The sound of hooves pounding against stone echoed in the air, mingling with the distant cries of seabirds. Her sharp gaze was fixed on the port ahead, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance simmering within her.

  Just as they neared their destination, a group of riders intercepted them. Leading the charge was Priest James, the Herptian Church’s representative on the island. He pulled his horse to a halt, raising a hand to signal his entourage to stop.

  The carriage came to a jarring halt, the sudden motion causing Ravenna to steady herself against the window frame. She pushed aside the curtain and leaned out, her jet-black hair catching the evening breeze. Her piercing eyes locked onto James.

  “What is the meaning of this interruption, Your Holiness?” she asked, her tone cutting. “I am on my way to inspect an uninvited ship that has docked in my port.”

  James, composed as ever, inclined his head respectfully. “Your Highness, I must apologize. The ship in question carries guests of the Herptian Church. I should have informed you earlier, but I was only notified of their arrival a few hours ago.”

  “Guests, you say?” Ravenna arched a brow, her voice laced with skepticism. “Regardless of their purpose, they are in my city, and I will see for myself who they are.”

  James nodded, signaling his group to clear the path. “Of course, Your Highness. Allow me to accompany you.”

  As the carriage resumed its journey, James rode alongside, his horse keeping pace. Ravenna’s eyes remained fixed ahead, but her voice betrayed her irritation. “So, who are these guests you seem so eager to meet?”

  “They are representatives from the Herptian Church’s headquarters on the western continent,” James began, his tone measured. “They were on a mission to retrieve a ceremonial artifact being sold on the black market in the capital city. During the mission, they discovered a slave auction run by the Hericules criminal syndicate. With the funds they had remaining, they chose to purchase and free as many slaves as possible.”

  Ravenna’s eyes narrowed. “And now they’re bringing them here? Why?”

  James hesitated for a moment, surprised by the uncharacteristic edge in her voice. “Well, Your Highness,” he continued carefully, “after freeing those who had places to return to, they found themselves responsible for the rest—those with nowhere else to go. Breaking their servitude spells and arranging transport drained their resources. The priests decided the most practical solution was to bring them here, where they could find refuge and purpose.”

  Ravenna’s expression hardened. “And what made them think my domain was the right place for this?”

  James glanced at her, sensing her mounting frustration. “Before you extended your support to the Herptian Church here on the island, I had informed the headquarters of my desire to leave the eastern continent. Progress in spreading the faith had been stagnant. However, when you offered to help, I sent another letter, informing them that we would remain due to your generous support.”

  “And?” Ravenna’s tone was sharp, her patience wearing thin.

  James gave a sheepish laugh. “Since we’ve been struggling with manpower, the priests saw this as an opportunity to resolve multiple problems at once. The freed slaves would provide additional hands for the church, giving them purpose and a new home, while we gain much-needed assistance. With the cost of travel from the capital to here being relatively low, it was deemed the most efficient solution.”

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  Ravenna exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Efficient for whom, exactly?”

  Before James could respond, the carriage rolled to a halt. They had arrived at the port.

  The scene before them was chaotic yet orderly. Dockworkers bustled about, unloading crates from the ship while the priests directed the newly freed individuals, who clutched threadbare belongings to their chests. Their weary eyes darted about, taking in their unfamiliar surroundings.

  Ravenna stepped out of the carriage, her cloak billowing in the sea breeze as she surveyed the scene. “Let’s see what trouble this so-called efficiency has brought to my doorstep,” she muttered under her breath, striding forward with James at her side.

  Yet, beneath her commanding exterior, Ravenna was on edge. The story James had relayed to her matched too closely with a pivotal event from Light’s Conquest. In the original novel, Eugene, the protagonist, failed to rescue the saintess during the infamous Hericules auction. By then, the Herptian Church had already purchased her, whisking her away along with the other slaves to the western continent. There, the saintess rose to prominence within the church, shaping the central conflict of the story’s second half.

  But now, everything seemed to be unraveling differently. Because of her decision to support the Herptian Church in her domain, the rescued slaves had been brought here instead of the western continent.

  Ravenna’s mind raced as she walked, her feet clicking against the cobblestones. “Am I overthinking this?” she mused, biting the inside of her cheek. “There’s no way they brought the saintess along. There are too many variables, too many unknowns…” Despite her efforts to reassure herself, a gnawing sense of unease refused to leave her. She had no intention of becoming embroiled in the main plot of the novel. If anything, she wanted to keep as far away from it as possible.

  As they approached the priests from the western continent, Ravenna noticed how they straightened the moment they saw her. They didn’t need an introduction. Her jet-black hair, the subtle but undeniable aura of authority she exuded, and the sharpness in her deep black eyes gave her away immediately.

  The four priests bowed deeply, their robes swaying in unison as they greeted her. “These humble priests greet Your Highness,” one of them intoned respectfully.

  Ravenna’s footsteps were deliberate as she closed the distance between them. Extending her hand with an air of regality, she gestured for them to rise. Her piercing gaze locked onto them, and her voice carried an icy undertone. “So, you are the ones who barged into my dukedom without any notice, are you?”

  Her words were sharp enough to make the former slaves, standing nearby in their ragged clothing, tremble visibly. Many fell to their knees, overwhelmed by her commanding presence. Even the priests, though outwardly composed, couldn’t hide the flicker of unease in their eyes.

  “Your Highness,” one of the priests began hesitantly, his voice shaky despite his efforts to remain calm. “I apologize for the intrusion, but this mission was highly sensitive, and we couldn’t risk—”

  Ravenna cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Enough of your excuses,” she said curtly. “Get these people to their quarters and make sure they are cared for. But remember this.”

  She took a step closer, her voice dropping into a menacing tone that sent chills down their spines. “I agreed to support your religion, not to become your lackey.” Her dark eyes burned as she leaned in slightly, her words deliberate and cold. “The next time you enter my domain unannounced, the only thing returning to your homes will be your heads. Not on your shoulders, mind you, but neatly packed in your offering boxes.”

  A heavy silence fell over the group. The priests gulped audibly and nodded in unison, their earlier composure shattered. Even the former slaves, who had no part in the priests’ decisions, cowered under the weight of her presence.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” one of the priests managed to stammer. “We will remember.”

  Satisfied, Ravenna straightened and motioned for James to oversee the relocation of the former slaves. Her knights and the local priests worked quickly, ushering the freed individuals into the carriages waiting nearby. The mood was tense but efficient, each person moving as though afraid to incur Ravenna’s wrath.

  As the process continued, Ravenna’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd absently. Then, she froze.

  A young woman stepped hesitantly toward one of the carriages, her figure almost lost amidst the sea of weary faces. She had chestnut-brown hair, freckles scattered across her pale face, and dull, lifeless eyes that still held a faint spark of defiance.

  Ravenna’s breath caught in her throat. That face—it was unmistakable. Her heart thudded in her chest as memories of the official artwork from Light’s Conquest flooded her mind. The girl standing before her bore an uncanny resemblance to Marie Leon, the saintess herself, one of the most pivotal characters in the novel’s second half.

  Ravenna’s pulse quickened. She forced her expression to remain calm, but her thoughts raced uncontrollably. “No… It can’t be. Not her. Not here.”

  The sight of Marie Leon, in the flesh, sent a cold dread coursing through her veins. The stakes had just been raised, and Ravenna realized with a sinking feeling that her attempts to stay out of the novel’s main plotline might already be unraveling.