The Grand Duchess panted as she deflected yet another strike, her blade now trembling in her hand.
Sweat dripped from her brow, and her elegant uniform was torn and bloodied—an embarrassing state for someone of her rank.
She grit her teeth, barely keeping up with the relentless attacks from the two pale figures that moved like ghosts in the night.
They had the same lifeless white skin, white hair, and white eyes as the saintess.
And though they hadn't spoken a word, their intentions were clear—they wanted her dead.
She knew she couldn't keep this up for long. Her current strength wasn't enough—not while she was still pretending to be the delicate, powerless noblewoman most assumed her to be.
So, with a deep breath, she made a decision.
The mask dropped.
A surge of golden mana burst out of her, rippling through the air with enough force to fracture the barrier surrounding them.
The dome trembled violently, then shattered like glass, the shards dissolving into the wind.
