Eykad sighs, his breath heavy.

"Losing faith is like losing oneself," he murmurs, his tone low and somber. "The living aren’t meant to be faithless, even if their faith sometimes withers and shatters like steel."

"The gods don’t listen," Luysia retorts sharply, her voice laced with a bitter coldness, the certainty of someone who has cried out in vain for a sign, for an outstretched hand.

“There is no greater truth," the dwarf confirms, his gaze intense. "Izhad Ingul has never answered my prayers. Not even once."

"Then how can you be so strong without his blessing?" she blurts out without thinking.

Eykad looks at her with irritation, his smile growing more bitter. "I thought you had found the answer. We are not the ones who need the gods. They are the ones who need us."

The dwarf's words strike Luysia like a whip; she has never considered that concept, and yet suddenly, it seems so obvious, so clear. "The gods need souls..." she murmurs. "We are the ones who give them power. The gifts they grant us are only crumbs of what we have already offered them."

Eykad nods, his eyes fixed on her, more intense and alive than Luysia ever remembered seeing them.

"Despite everything, the living need to believe. And it’s not enough to believe only in oneself. One needs ideals worthy of devotion, sacred goals, idols to uphold. From that, an individual's will fuses with a cause, strengthening the soul and fueling its power. The individual will, bound to a greater purpose… That is the most powerful force in the universe."

"Is that how you overcame the decay of being an oathbreaker?" Luysia asks, beginning to understand the dwarf's path. "Is that how you're able to use your abilities to their fullest potential?"

But she already knows the answer.
She has seen the dwarf's power and then witnessed Kanna surpass her limits to cast a spell she shouldn't have been able to use without divine support—and it was Luysia herself who had suggested to the professor how to achieve it.

Eykad tilts his head, a slow nod that seems to confirm everything she suspects.
"Dwarves live longer than humans or dark elves—not as long as the elves, but long enough to understand many things. It wasn't easy. For a long time, I wandered without a cause, without true faith. But in Queen Azherie, I found something worthy of devotion."

Luysia listens without interrupting, recalling every time she has crossed paths with the enigmatic gaze of the dark elf queen, the aura of majesty that seemed to surround her.

"She is the one who weaves the web. She is worthy of devotion because she walks the path toward godhood. The dark elves were little more than beasts before her—nomadic tribes, savages hiding in these dark depths. But she elevated them; she built this realm, this civilization," the dwarf explains openly, his words filled with deep conviction. This is truly what he believes in.

"She builds. I love her for that, with all my heart, but she doesn’t need my love… she needs my soul."

Those words resonate deeply within Luysia, like an echo that reverberates in her spirit.
She now understands that she, too, has someone who embodies her faith, someone in whom she can pour every ounce of her dedication and will.

Strauss Wagner, her Master, the one for whom she is willing to sacrifice everything.

"Our Masters give us power in exchange for our souls," Luysia reflects, her voice resolute. "And the stronger they become, the more we draw from their strength. It’s a better exchange than with the gods."

"We are not merely pawns," Eykad says with even greater gravity, "but the cornerstone of those domains they seek to establish. We build the thrones on which they sit." His eyes narrow, studying Luysia's face.

"We make a difference; we are not just grains of sand in the desert of the gods."

Luysia's mind traces back over her journey, the mistakes and triumphs, the nights of loneliness and despair, until she reaches Strauss Wagner—the one who reduced her to ashes and then rebuilt her from those very ashes.

He never promised her redemption or salvation, but something darker, truer, something that consumed her and fulfilled her in equal measure.

He brought her the most excruciating pain, yet also the most sublime pleasure.

He made her feel like a woman. He made her feel like a paladin.

Strauss is that black flame, the very darkness that enveloped and shaped her—a corruption that burns within her, warm and all-encompassing, like the kiss of a dying star. So warm, just before it becomes a black hole.

In that darkness, which embraces rather than condemns, Luysia has found a home.

No longer in the cold light of Chand—a blinding desert that left her alone—but in a warm, tangible darkness, where she can shine in a way she never could anywhere else.

The dwarf watches Luysia, surprise and a spark of respect lighting up in his gaze.
"You are about to rise again because you know what it means to fall and then cling to a new reason for being."

She feels the rejection of the goddess, but she is not speaking to her now.

The woman feels the power within her, and her lips move almost on their own, reciting words of a prayer that has never been spoken before.

A prayer repeated thousands upon thousands of times in another form, now twisted—or perhaps, now more heartfelt, more natural, more spontaneous.

Her voice emerges distorted, hoarse, yet powerful, imbued with a perverse and deeply personal devotion.

It is reforged, directed toward a different recipient.
This is what even Kanna has not understood but what Luysia has deeply realized through her experience.

“O Master, unlit candles, I implore,
In your shadow, I explore,
Curse me, bind me evermore,
Light fades when you restore.”

Master, grant me power. Bury the light.

A dark aura begins emanating from her body.
Her blonde hair lifts, whipped by the powerful energy enveloping her.

The magic tattoo on her neck glows, not as a sign of rebellion, but to display her total devotion to the contract and her Master.

She burns with energy, fueled by her very soul as it feeds this dark flame.

“In the gloom of night, my candles wane,
Guiding me through endless pain.
Curse me, Master, with your twisted flame,
In your darkness, I invoke your name.”

Luysia’s voice reverberates through the temple, as if the entire world were witnessing this dark vow.

Then she feels something within her break and, at the same time, be reborn, as if the essence of her being had been rewritten.

The System appears before her eyes.

[Congratulations! REAWAKENING UNLOCKED: Evolution of OATHBREAKER to DEMONIC PALADIN]

After uttering the last word of her prayer, the darkness around her condenses and pulses, as if the very shadows of the temple had come alive, dancing in sync with her breath.

From the dark void, a grim glow ignites, barely visible at first but growing more intense, like a black fire that expands without ever consuming itself. The temperature shifts; an intense, oppressive heat fills the air, yet it carries no warmth or comfort. It is the heat of suffering, of perdition, as if the flames of an ancient hell were answering her call.

Luysia casts aside her Silverdark halberd, now useless, letting it clatter loudly against the stone floor.

She raises her hand high.

[HALBERD OF FAITH]

From her outstretched hand, dense, dark energy flows, beginning to mold itself slowly into a defined shape, emerging from the shadow like a creature being born.

The halberd takes form with a clang of ancient metal, as if resonating from the very depths, summoning forgotten presences and hidden powers.

The blade is as black as night, streaked with crimson and tinged with violet veins that run along the edge like the veins of a dark, pulsing heart. The prongs emit a restless darkness, while the entire weapon, including its handle, glows with a sinister sheen, like a shadow burning with the fury of a dying star.

The "Halberd of Faith" is no longer the luminous weapon of old: it has been reborn, dense with demonic power, pulsing as if it has a will of its own. Black and crimson flames lick along the edge of the blade, enveloping the shaft in a shadow that casts no shadow.

This flame is not like the sacred fire of temples, but an ethereal blaze, a light that does not illuminate, one that envelops, hungry and indomitable. Its heat slides across her skin, and Luysia feels her energy merge with the power of the blade, becoming one with it.

As she finally lifts it, the weapon seems to respond to her command, emitting a low, deep roar.

The dark blade slices through the air with an echo that reverberates throughout the temple’s interior, as if the very structure were trembling at its presence.

 

Eykad, the dwarf, watches the transformation with an expression of respect mixed with curiosity.
“You truly have been reborn,” he murmurs, recognizing in that weapon the mark of darkness and reforged devotion.

Luysia grips the Halberd of Faith, feeling the dark power of her Master coursing through her.

“For Strauss,” she whispers, her voice filled with a desire for destruction, and the dark blade seems to respond to her call, pulsing even more intensely, ready to fight.

“My thanks, Eykad. Of all the enemies I have faced and will face, you are the least deserving of death. Know that I take no pleasure in this,” says Luysia, bowing her head slightly as a gesture of respect.

The dwarf nods solemnly. “Duty gives us purpose. There is no need for you to justify yourself. We do what we must, not for pleasure but for faith. Our battle will decide the future; our wills are so powerful because they are dedicated to those worthy of our support.”

“This is our destiny,” Eykad proclaims. “You have found your truth, but we shall see if it is enough to withstand mine.”

 

Without further words, they both launch forward.

Despite his stocky build, the dwarf moves with surprising agility, lifting his hammer high and swinging it down toward her with devastating force. The blow strikes the floor with a thunderous crash, sending shards of stone flying like bullets toward Luysia.

Luysia spins her halberd, creating a vortex of darkness that deflects the fragments, while her blade descends like a scythe toward the dwarf.

Eykad raises his hammer to intercept, and the clash between their weapons is so intense that it echoes through the depths of the temple.

The dark halberd and warhammer rebound, yet neither of them retreats.

They remain locked in a contest of pure strength, their weapons pressed against each other.

The tension builds as they both push their strength to the limit.
The dwarf allows himself a slight, grim smile, tinged with respect.

With a final surge, Luysia unleashes a wave of dark energy, a torrent of power that courses into the blade of her halberd.

The dark metal seems to respond, glowing with a fiery red hue, as if drawing power from her own fury.

She lets all her strength flow through the weapon, striking down with force toward the dwarf’s hammer.

*CRACK*

Eykad attempts to block the attack with his hammer, but the impact is too powerful.

[SANCTUARY OF WILL]

Azherie's Servant calls upon his ultimate defense, creating a protective field that has always proven unbreakable.

*CRASH*

It’s not enough.
The darkness of the halberd shatters the barrier like glass, continuing its deadly descent.

The dark blade shatters every defense, cutting through the hammer in a shower of sparks, and strikes the dwarf with devastating force.

Eykad’s armor gives way under the pressure, and the halberd sinks in, tearing through the metal and piercing flesh with a dull, final sound.

Blood bursts from the wound in a spray.

Eykad gasps, his breath ragged as he buckles under the force of the attack.

Luysia's blade is embedded in his chest, reaching his heart; there is no salvation.
The dark fire consumes him from within, beyond the reach of any healing magic.

Dark blood stains his beard, and his expression grows solemn.

But despite the mortal blow, the dwarf raises his gaze to her, his eyes filled with an unusual calm.

“This… is true will,” he whispers with his last breath, his tone almost reverent, as if finding peace in acceptance. “Never forget. This is true strength.”

Then, lowering his gaze, he reflects aloud.
“To know the reason for our fall… is to understand the shape of things to come.”

With those words, the dwarf’s grip on the broken hammer loosens, and his body slowly collapses to the ground, releasing his final breath.