“He is Adrian the Devil!”

“The Devil! The Devil is within our flock!”

“He’s trying to harm our savior! Down with the Devil! Kill the Devil!”

“Protect the angel! Kill the Devil!”

The name Adrian Acker sends the crowd into a frenzy. They become a bunch of raving lunatics as they rush the golden knights.

The Palatines quickly put up a protective barrier, but the people swarm them like a raging river. They climb over each other and pound on the barrier with zero regard for their lives. Each man and woman is driven by unrestrained zealotry, their eyes reflecting madness.

Sparks of mana soar across the sky and bombard on the barrier. The holy Palatines suddenly find themselves in the middle of a war zone. They give their all into reinforcing the magical shield against the bombardment and grip the hilt of their swords tightly, not knowing if they should start attacking the people—and even if they would stand a chance if they did.

The Palatines look to their leader for instructions. “Magistrate, what are our orders?! Magistrate!”

But even Magistrate Lorenzo is taken aback. He watches the raging mobs with a gaping mouth.

“How can this be? How dare these rabbles raise their hands against me?!”

I mean, what did he expect would happen here? Did he think the people will side with some random old coot over Saint Eleanor?

On one hand, you have a creep in a robe, on the other, you have a pretty girl with literal angel wings, who can weave literal miracles. Ain’t exactly a hard choice to make.

The crowd keeps on pushing, and the barrier begins to crack. They burst through and swarm the Palatine like a pack of rabid animals. They kick and they pull and they crawl at the golden knights.

A Palatine swings his sword, drawing blood, and several bodies fall to the dirt below—including that of a young girl.

“Enough!” Eleanor raises her hand and unleashes an oppressive mana pulse.

The world stops at her command—both within the memory and outside.

Nobody moves, nobody dares breath as Eleanor rushes to the injured people. With a wave of her hand, their wounds close and their bones mend together. She picks up the girl and asks if she’s okay.

“It hurts! It hurt so much!” The girl cries, even as her body has healed completely.

“I know, baby. I know it hurts. Shhh… It’s okay. You’re fine now. Go to sleep now and you’ll feel brand new in the morning.”

“You’re lying! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!”

“Shhh … I know. I know. Here, I’ll give it a kiss, and I promise the pain will fly away. So be a good girl and go to sleep. Go to sleep …”

Eleanor closes the girl’s eyes and uses magic to put her to rest. She hands the girl to her mother, then turns to the knight with the bloodied sword.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?”

She smiles and approaches him.

The knight cannot move. His hands hold on to the hilt of the sword tightly.

Eleanor touches his helmet and it turns to dust, then she touches his armor, and it melts away. What’s left standing is a man with whites in his hair. His hands are shaking as his wide eyes reflect Eleanor’s wide smile.

Eleanor’s delicate fingers brush the blade of the sword, then she grabs it and aims the sharp end at her heart. Her purple eyes stare into the man’s soul.

“Go on,” Eleanor says, “take a stab at me. Don’t be shy. I’ll give you one good shot to end me. But if you fail … Guess I’ll have no choice but to retaliate, won’t I?”

The knight is shaking. Without his armor, he looks so frail and old, despite still being in his prime.

The two of them stand there silently with a sword between them. The onlooker watches with bated breath.

“What’s wrong? Weren’t you swinging this hunk of metal around so carelessly just a moment ago? Why are you afraid of using it now?”

Tears pour out of the knight’s eyes and he drops his sword. He drops to his knees and grips the trim of Eleanor’s skirt.

“Forgive … Forgive me, your holiness. I knew not what I had done … I knew not who you were. Oh, God … Oh God, what have I done …?”

The man sobs and throws himself on to the dirt. His pride as a knight, all gone.

The other knights watch the scene silently with their heads hanging low.

“Fool! What are you doing?” Magistrate Lorenzo, who just woke up from his stupor, angrily stomps down from the platform. “Arrest them, you fools! These mongrels attempted to murder a priest of the holy temple. By rights, they should all be burned at the stake! Don’t just stand there, arrest them! Arrest every man, woman, and child who dared raise their fist against us! What are you dogs waiting for?!”

The Palatines glance at the raving old man, then look toward the silver-haired girl who is standing calmly as a man weeps at her feet, and they suddenly feel like their armors and weapons are far too heavy for their wary souls.

Eleanor looks down at the fallen knight and clicks her tongue in disappointment. She then looks around at the awkward atmosphere and clicks her tongue again.

“Way to ruin the mood. Shit! I better change the locale before these dumbasses do something annoying again.”

She calls the Magistrate.

“You say you’re here to arrest me.”

“I … Indeed! I have in my hand a holy warrant for your arrest, Eleanor Ambrose! You shall be put to trial for your transgression against our fate!”

“Very well. I’m willing to go to trial or torture chamber or whatever. Anywhere’s better than here.”

Magistrate Lorenzo blows air out of his nose and orders the Palatines to detain Eleanor. He also points at the fallen knight.

“You shall also be punished for being an embarrassment to your order, worm. I shall see to it that your titles are stripped from you and your body is thrown to the dogs!”

The Palatines look toward Lorenzo. Beneath their helmets, their eyes are burning with hot rage.

Eleanor is cuffed by a mana restriction bracelet and escorted out of the shantytown. The crowd part reluctantly, thousands of hands desperately reaching out to her like reeds in the wind.

The knight leads Eleanor to a convoy where she is put into a carriage with blacked-out windows.

“Please step inside the vehicle, your holiness,” a Palatine says politely. “We shall do our best to make your journey as pleasant as possible. We may request a nun to be your companion if you wish.”

“No need.”

Eleanor climbs into her seat, and the door is closed and locked.

She looks down at her mana restrictive cuff, removes it with her shapeshifting power, and puts it on again.

“How disappointing.” Eleanor leans back in the seat.

“Ms. Eleanor … thank you,” Donna says.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For everything.”

Eleanor shrugs. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when we’re there.”

“Of course. And Ms. Eleanor, don’t you think we should have notified the Duchess before going on another trip for Lord knows how long?”

Eleanor shrugs again. “She’ll be fine. It’s not the first or second time I got kidnapped. She’s probably used to it by now.”

“And your followers? Don’t you think they’ll resort to something … drastic while you’re away?”

“Those morons? What could they do? They’re a bunch of lazy hippies who are in it for the free handouts. They ain’t gonna do shit.”

“… I hope you’re right.”

“Trust me, freckles,” Eleanor yawns. “It’ll be fine. After all, what could they possibly do? Start a crusade in my name? Ha!”

They did, in fact, start a crusade in her name.