67 – What Arrogance

When those emerald eyes—clear as carved jade—fell on her, Irene felt a chill pierce her throat, as though an icy arrow had run her through. Her body trembled, and cold sweat streamed down her back.

“Clang!”

Another poisoned arrow bounced harmlessly off Teresa. The ranger Divine Princess behind Irene froze, her skin prickling.

This time, the shot hadn't aimed at her chest—no “cushion,” and yet Teresa still shrugged it off with only a faint jolt from the impact.

Still can’t break through?

The ranger’s face turned ashen. She swallowed hard, her arsenal exhausted, and cast a desperate look at Irene.

As Teresa’s gleaming golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, radiating a holy brilliance, Irene seethed.

All that scheming and manipulation—and now she’s pretending to be some pure-hearted saint? Who does she think she’s fooling?!

With their only knight eliminated, Irene had no choice but to stand in front of the ranger and play the tank herself.

She stared down Teresa, forcing herself to stay composed. No matter how furious she was, she knew one thing: she had to bind both of Teresa’s hands—only then would there be a chance.

If she allowed Teresa to put distance between them, she’d be dead before she could even blink. Without a knight to draw fire, Irene could only charge forward and force melee to look for a gap to activate her Divine Authority.

But how could Teresa not see through her intent?

With the ranger reduced to a non-threat, this was the only viable strategy left. And with her Elven sensitivity, Teresa just needed to pay a little attention for Irene’s Authority to become useless.

She didn’t use her bow. Instead, she slung it across her back and drew the light sword that had pierced Laro earlier, intercepting Irene’s whip.

Irene was stunned.

Having seen Teresa’s exceptional archery, she’d assumed—naturally—that Teresa must be bad with melee weapons.

It was only logical. Someone that skilled with the bow had to have spent all their time refining archery. They couldn’t possibly have had time for anything else.

Her logic wasn’t wrong—her mistake was applying human common sense to Teresa.

Whips were notoriously hard to master. Their unpredictable trajectories and long reach made them deadly, but also dangerous—especially in chaotic melee. A slip of the wrist could just as easily lash the user.

And Irene’s whip was especially lethal: tipped with barbed hooks, it could rip flesh off bone if it landed cleanly.

She’d come in expecting an easy win—archers are bad at melee, after all.

She realized her mistake the moment they clashed.

Teresa parried with her sword, using her other arm to redirect the whip’s angle and throw it wide. Then, switching to a two-handed grip, she closed the gap, pushing in so quickly her blade almost grazed Irene’s cheek.

Startled, Irene yanked her whip back.

Her Domain allowed for accelerating whip strikes—the more she attacked, the faster they got, overwhelming the enemy.

But Teresa’s golden blade swept aside her whip again—and again, she advanced.

As that golden silhouette surged toward her, Irene’s panic showed in the way her strikes grew erratic and sloppy.

Compared to archery, Teresa’s swordsmanship wasn’t as refined—but it was still leagues beyond anything a beginner should have been capable of.

Clearly, this girl was no stranger to blades.

Her unrelenting assault shattered Irene’s guard like dry twigs.

“CLANG!”

With a clean strike, Teresa knocked the whip clean out of her hand.

Still not giving up, Irene desperately attempted to use her Authority again—to bind Teresa during the moment of disarmament. But it was useless.

The black thorned vines emerged—and were instantly severed by Teresa’s light sword.

Her legs buckled.

The glowing blade hovered a hair’s breadth from her nose.

She crumpled to the ground, stunned.

She couldn’t believe it.

She—a proper Divine Princess—had lost to a stray.

It wasn’t just unacceptable.

It was incomprehensible.

“...Heh. Congratulations, I guess,” Irene said bitterly, lifting her head. “You must feel amazing—getting your revenge. Isn’t there a rush? A sense of euphoria?”

But when she looked up—

Teresa remained silent.

Her gem-bright eyes shimmered with a tranquil glow—clear and still, like a pool untouched by wind.

Not a trace of hatred.

Not even disdain.

It was pure.

So pure it almost felt inhuman.

Like this wasn’t about vengeance at all—just self-defense.

And that… wasn’t something you could fake.

But… why?

After everything I did to her… how could she not hate me?

Irene stared blankly, utterly lost.

She didn’t understand how Teresa could look so calm, so unaffected, after such a total victory.

Was it generosity? Kindness?

But as she kept staring, Irene began to realize—No.

That wasn’t it.

Teresa wasn’t being magnanimous or merciful.

It was because—it simply wasn’t worth it.

She didn’t think this revenge mattered.

In fact, she didn’t think Irene mattered.

Not even a little.

Not enough to even feel anything.

Would you hold a grudge against an insect?

Of course not.

A bug that could be crushed with one finger wasn’t worth the emotional effort.

And that was what Teresa saw her as: A bug.

In Teresa’s eyes, Irene wasn’t faking calmness or playing noble.

She was genuinely detached—because Irene wasn’t even on her radar.

Suddenly, Irene remembered that moment before they entered the secret realm—when Teresa had smiled and said, “Pleased to work with you.”

No warmth.

No meaning.

Just words.

“Until next time, Irene,” Teresa said gently, offering a polite bow.

Graceful.

Courteous.

Not a trace of mockery or gloating.

And somehow, that made it so much worse than any insult.

To Irene, it felt like the ultimate humiliation.

Every movement, every gesture of that golden-haired girl spelled out a single, irrefutable truth:

She had never once considered Irene worth noticing.

What arrogance.

Compared to that… Irene’s own cruelty toward the weak didn’t even qualify as pride.

Teresa raised her blade. In one smooth, decisive motion, she brought it down—Severing the token at Irene’s throat.

With a sharp crack, Irene’s body vanished into the trees.

“Team 57 ranger-class Divine Princess, Irene Cardifen, has been defeated by Team 30 ranger-class Divine Princess, Teresa.”

After eliminating Irene, Teresa dismissed her light sword, picked up her longbow, and drew the string once more. The bow flared with energy—wings outstretched, forming a radiant silhouette. A charged light arrow appeared.

She aimed at the final remaining member of Team 57 with any semblance of combat ability—Mary.

The pale-faced ranger never stood a chance.

Two swift arrows to the throat.

“Team 57 ranger-class Divine Princess, Mary, has been defeated by Team 30 ranger-class Divine Princess, Teresa.”

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