Chapter 1: How Did I Turn into a White-Haired Loli After My Defeat?

Crimson moonlight spilled through the shattered dome, weaving a spiderweb of cracks across the bronze floor tiles.

Twelve suits of platinum armor lay scattered across the throne hall, their holy-emblemed helmets oozing a mixture of brain matter and blood.

Stacy’s silver hair danced wildly in the storm of magical energy as she stepped lightly over the dismembered limbs littering the ground.

Her scarlet dress remained immaculate, as if she had just finished a solitary dance beneath the moon rather than a battle to the death.

“Only you are left, little Sword Saint.”

She looked down at Agnes, who was leaning against a broken pillar.

The legendary warrior of the Augustian Empire had his right arm severed at the shoulder, and his writhing organs were visible through a gash in his breastplate.

A cold sneer tugged at the man’s bloodstained lips, his left hand still gripping the Holy Sword Dawn, now broken in two.

The inscriptions on the blade were fading, much like the life force draining from his body.

Before insisting on this decapitation strike, Agnes had known his opponent would be powerful.

To avoid unnecessary casualties and ensure the mission’s success, he had assembled the twelve most elite Platinum Knights of the Holy See.

This was a force that could have marched unchallenged through most of the continent, yet they had been all but annihilated in the battle to slay Stacy.

And Stacy, it was clear, had barely broken a sweat.

A question formed in Agnes’s mind.

Had they even managed to wound her?

Even a little?

He gathered his final strength, focusing it into the holy sword.

With the conviction of a man embracing death, Agnes burned his own life force to unleash one last strike.

“Holy light… will ultimately…”

Agnes’s voice was cut short.

Seven pitch-black tentacles erupted from the floor, nailing him in a crucifix-like pose against a wall covered in demonic runes.

He couldn’t even touch her?

“Do it, Fell God.”

He was utterly defeated, quietly awaiting death’s arrival.

But as Stacy drew near, she did not strike.

Her beautiful eyes were locked on his body.

‘What, does she want to humiliate me further?’

“Fell God, why do you hesitate? Kill me or cut me to pieces, as you please. Just make it quick.”

Since she seemed unwilling to act, he tightened his grip on the holy sword, intending to hurl it at her.

But another tentacle shot out, pinning his remaining left hand to the wall as well.

“It’s not that I won’t kill you. It’s just… not yet time.”

Stacy’s fingertips traced a path across the warrior’s bloodied face, drawing an inverted pentagram on his brow.

“Such a stubborn look in your eyes. It reminds me of that Paladin Commander from three hundred years ago.”

Her nail suddenly pierced the man’s collarbone.

“A pity his screams were so much more pleasant than yours.”

Her slender fingers dipped into the bloody holes on Agnes’s body, using his blood as ink.

Her blood-stained fingertips left behind a series of esoteric marks.

Her beautiful eyes watched the man’s face twist in agony.

‘More pain. The more he suffers, the better the essence I can extract.’

A faint purple light illuminated his body.

She wiped the blood from her fingertips, revealing crimson patterns emerging from the marks she had made.

Blood flowed along the grooves of the demonic runes, pooling on the floor into a strange magical array.

As the formation slowly activated, the crimson patterns grew even more lurid.

Pain could not wring a single scream from Agnes.

He endured it, glaring at Stacy and letting out one final roar.

“Though our mission has failed today, Fell God, how much longer do you think you have to live?”

“Oh?”

Those words piqued Stacy’s interest, though only for a fleeting moment.

She had never feared the Church’s crusades.

Even if the deaths of these men brought the full might of the Augustian Empire down upon her, she would not be afraid.

In fact, she would be rather pleased.

If one came, she would kill one.

If a legion came, she would slaughter a legion.

The more, the better.

The stronger, the better.

Only then could they provide her with sufficient nourishment.

“I don’t know how much longer I have to live, but I know exactly how much longer you have.”

She channeled her magic into her palm, accelerating the formation’s activation.

Watching Agnes’s pained expression, Stacy licked her lips, a hint of excitement in her eyes.

This was the Soul-Devouring Rite, a ritual that refined the power and soul of a captive into the purest form of demonic energy crystal.

Stacy licked a bead of blood from her fingertip, waiting for the familiar surge of energy to flow into her.

But then, something unexpected happened.

The formation suddenly erupted in a blinding white light.

At the same time, spiderweb-like cracks appeared on Agnes’s skin.

She could feel the white light erasing the soul within that body.

The sudden turn of events made Stacy’s red pupils contract sharply—she sensed the fluctuations of a spatial rift, an energy level far beyond what any human could possibly touch.

Tsk… how vexing.

Tentacles burst from the ground, tearing at the man’s body, but they turned to ash the instant they touched the white light.

As the light flared, the entire ancient castle began to tremble, and the celestial map on the dome projected a river of light like the Milky Way.

She felt an unfamiliar presence.

A strange soul, carried by the white light, was being slowly infused into the body.

When the light dissipated, the body pinned to the wall began to shrink, and the mangled, bloody wounds started healing at a visible rate.

The black hair at the back of his head gradually turned white, growing wildly until it stopped near his ankles.

The shrunken body slipped free of its restraints and was caught by Stacy’s tentacles just before it hit the floor.

Gazing at the transformed body with a complex expression, Stacy instinctively pulled back the tattered rags covering it for a look.

After confirming her suspicions, a trace of astonishment filled her eyes.

A moment ago, it had been a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man.

How had he suddenly turned into a small, white-haired girl less than one-and-a-half meters tall?

The Soul-Devouring Rite she had cast was meant only to extract power for her to absorb.

She had absorbed the power of many people before Agnes, and nothing like this had ever happened.

However, although the form had changed, she could feel that the power flowing within the body remained the same.

This was truly another opportunity for her.

But more interesting than the bit of power within that body was the strange soul brought by the white light.

That was far more valuable than simply gaining power.

She continued to observe the body, but just then, its long eyelashes trembled and fluttered open, revealing blue eyes clearer than any arctic glacier.

Yet, those beautiful eyes were filled with nothing but confusion.

The young girl blinked blankly, her cherry lips uttering a language Stacy had never heard before.

“Wasn’t I just sitting at home? Where’s my monitor? My computer? And my pentakill…”

A surge of joy welled up in Stacy’s heart.

She had finally found it.

The girl’s struggles were futile against Stacy.

After all, with her tiny frame, she could do nothing but be pinned beneath her.

“Outsider, I don’t care where you came from. Leave this body now, and return to your own world.”