Hate Me, Miss Witch!

Xaya's calm words echoed in everyone's ears.

The once clamorous and noisy campus fell into an eerie silence in an instant, leaving only the crackling sound of the surrounding fire pillars.

No one expected Xaya to say such words, not even the arsonists of the Ashen Cult.

The tense atmosphere, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap, had been perfectly staged for an intense battle. Everyone was prepared for a fierce fight to erupt—

Who could have foreseen that the leader of the opposing side would suddenly surrender?

It felt like a meticulously planned punch landed on soft cotton, a discomfort that was hard to describe.

The leader of the arsonists froze for a few seconds before a trace of irritation appeared on his face, disfigured as if corroded by acid under his black hood. "Are you mocking me?"

Even ants cling to life—who would willingly surrender themselves to death?

Even the youngest child in the Empire knows a basic truth: when facing an enemy, the only choice is to grasp your weapon tightly.

The more you compromise, the more you give up resistance, pinning your hopes on the enemy's mercy and empty promises, the faster your demise.

Especially against the Ashen Cult, whose creed stands miles away from the word "mercy." Not even they expect to deceive others with flowery words.

The leader couldn't believe that Xaya, a senior at Saint Roland Academy, wouldn't understand this basic logic.

"Oh, you saw through my lie? Not bad."

Opposite him, Xaya raised an eyebrow in slight surprise.

"It seems my earlier judgment was correct—you're indeed different from ordinary arsonists."

"You're a logical, clever, premium-grade arsonist."

Strangely enough, though Xaya's words were intended as a compliment, they grated on the arsonist leader's ears more than the students' curses.

Anger flickered in his eyes as he prepared to respond.

But Xaya raised both hands suddenly and pressed down. "Alright then, since you're a smart man, I won't beat around the bush."

"Let's make a deal."

Xaya turned sideways, pointing toward Dyris, whose pale neck was held at scythe's edge. He gestured to the disheveled group of civilian students trembling under strict surveillance nearby.

"Lift the fire barrier and free them."

"In exchange, I'll give up resisting and willingly enter the altar as a sacrifice for your fire ritual."

...

The arsonist leader glanced at the pitiful-looking Dires, then at Xaya.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on him, illuminating his mind like a flash of lightning.

Ah, I see.

Now it all makes sense.

While Xaya and Aurora indeed had the strength to assault the altar and break through the fire barrier, countless students were still restrained.

In such chaos, how many could realistically be rescued? That would be left up to sheer luck—saving even half would be a miracle.

Dyris, in particular, would almost certainly meet her end.

Now it was clear: despite being elite students of Saint Roland Academy, they were ultimately young and hot-blooded, untested by the world's harshness.

Having lived within the ivory towers of their supernatural academy, they had never faced society's cold cruelty or tasted betrayal's bitter wine.

So, they still believed in fleeting concepts like love.

They clung to ideals spun by bards—words like "sacrifice," "salvation," and "comradeship"—and dreamed of being heroes who could save and protect everyone.

In Xaya, the arsonist leader saw a reflection of his own past.

A naïve boy from a village dreaming of being a champion of justice.

The vision of a village girl named Cuilin at the village gate crossed his mind.

But his gaze quickly turned cold, banishing such fleeting thoughts.

Love? Merely hollow words to manipulate the gullible.

Only ashes and flames are eternal.

And if you wish to be a hero, you must prove yourself worthy of the title.

The leader fixed his gaze on Xaya and rasped, "Trading your life for hundreds of theirs? Are you joking—"

But before he could finish, Xaya interrupted him mercilessly.

"So, are you saying..."

"I'm not worthy?"

"I—"

"I'm not worthy of trading for these weaklings?"

Before Xaya's voice faded, the arsonist leader noticed something peculiar.

The boy standing before him—veiled in an aura of mystery—suddenly revealed his true nature.

The layers of mist dissipated, leaving the brilliance of a burning, radiant soul exposed.

For a moment, the arsonist felt a profound sense of insignificance.

Like an ant staring up at a mountain—

No, even that comparison seemed pale.

It was like an ancient ape gazing at the starry heavens for the first time, witnessing an endless sea of stars.

Before he could recover, a frantic telepathic message from the high priest rang in his ears.

"Agree to the deal."

Outside the wall of flames, the high priest astride a magma giant—silent even against two fourth-ring masters—spoke for the first time.

For a mere student below the third ring.

As a fourth-ring high priest whose mental strength could command king-tier beasts, he had seen it clearly.

Even just a fleeting glimpse—

But in that instant, the high priest felt as though he had witnessed a radiant star.

Blazing, brilliant, yet so pure, profound, and mysterious.

The realization sent tremors through his hands, even loosening his grip on the magma giant's reins. Colonel Zieg's earth bear seized the opportunity, landing a powerful elemental combo.

Chunks of molten rock scattered, leaving craters on the ground. But the high priest didn't care.

Though the essence of the Ashen Lord was madness, the cultists pursued worldly benefits with purpose.

The highest demand: souls imbued with intelligence.

The more mysterious, powerful, and pure a soul, the greater its value as a sacrifice.

This was why they targeted Saint Roland Academy, rather than desolate areas.

Compared to weathered adults, whose souls were marred by life's struggles or tainted by greed, only these students—sheltered in their ivory towers—possessed such purity.

The academy students hadn't disappointed. The girl with the white unicorn contract was already a pleasant surprise.

But compared to Xaya—

Everyone else seemed insignificant.

"Accept his terms. His soul alone is worth more than all the others combined."

"It's the perfect offering for the Lord... I'll keep the fourth-rings occupied."

"Even if we all perish, ensure the ritual is completed."

The high priest refocused on the fight, shrugging off another barrage from Zieg and Professor Kahn.

Meanwhile, the arsonist leader looked back at Xaya.

Xaya's dark eyes, unfathomable as a starless night sky, locked onto him.

"So," Xaya said with a yawn, "Shall we have a deal?"