If you were to ask Theresa exactly what Jeanne's soul looked like, the pure white ruler of the Sarkaz—who had witnessed countless unique and twisted souls throughout her long life—would fall completely silent. It would take a very long time before she could even manage a single sentence: "It is a highly unusual soul."
Even with her deep understanding of spirits, Theresa couldn't fathom why Jeanne's soul manifested the way it did before her eyes. It was an incredibly bizarre sight, a dual nature that defied words and left an indelible mark on her mind from the very first glance.
Never in all her years had the Demon King seen a single soul capable of holding both a divine, radiant gold and a terrifying, deep black at the exact same time. She found herself questioning if this was even a soul a person could possess. How could two utterly contradictory existences be packed into one person?
Within that golden, luminous half of the soul, Theresa could see a pure and holy maiden. A profound sense of mercy and pity drifted from her eyes, giving off the impression that no matter what kind of sin or tragedy she encountered, this girl could find it in her heart to forgive.
Yet, that gentle mercy didn't mean she would tolerate evil. One look at her heavy, pristine armor made it crystal clear that this was a woman fiercely skilled in combat, possessing the absolute power needed to crush wickedness where it stood.
Seeing such a figure, Theresa couldn't help but view her as a true Saint. In fact, the brilliant, sun-like gold of that holy soul radiated so intensely that it made Theresa's eyes throb with a faint, physical ache.
Strangely enough, as she stared at the smiling maiden, a sudden, overwhelming urge to weep for her surged deep within Theresa's chest.
What the Demon King didn't realize was that while her mind was immersed in the vision, her physical body back in the real world was already standing there with a completely blank expression, heavy tears streaming silently down her face as if Jeanne had just bullied her.
Jeanne, completely out of her depth and unsure how to handle a crying ruler, could only pull out a clean handkerchief to gently wipe the tears from Theresa's face. All the while, she kept glancing around frantically, deeply relieved that the nearby elite operators were too busy with their own tasks to notice them.
If any of those hardened fighters caught sight of this, they'd undoubtedly think she was actively tormenting their beloved leader!
"Hey, what's going on with her Highness? Why is she crying?"
Of course, Jeanne's hopes of staying unnoticed were completely dashed. The elite operators possessed senses far beyond ordinary men, and they had spotted the odd situation long ago.
Since none of them had ever seen Theresa shed a tear like this, they were left entirely baffled. They couldn't tell if the young girl had somehow thoroughly scolded their leader or if some hidden enemy magic was affecting her, so they collectively turned their sharp gazes toward Kal'tsit for guidance.
On second thought, though, they knew Theresa could endure Kal'tsit's sharp, biting lectures without losing her serene composure, so it seemed practically impossible for a young girl to reduce her to tears through words alone. After all, as far as the operators were concerned, no one on Terra possessed a tongue more venomous than the ancient doctor's.
Could anyone even imagine a silver-furred Feline standing before you with a completely stone-cold expression, using terms you hadn't even heard of to thoroughly dismantle your life choices? The worst part was that you couldn't even talk back, because every single word out of her mouth was the absolute, unvarnished truth!
Even though the operators kept these treacherous thoughts strictly to themselves, Kal'tsit's ability to read a room was practically maxed out. She didn't even need to look at their faces to guess exactly what they were thinking.
But as a mature, ancient professional, Kal'tsit obviously wasn't going to lower herself to argue with a bunch of kids. She had zero interest in policing their internal thoughts anyway; as long as they didn't say it out loud, she would just pretend she didn't know.
"Stop staring over there and focus on your work," Kal'tsit commanded sharply, waving her hand to get them moving. "Theresa likely just ran into some backlash while trying to observe Jeanne's soul. Pack up the gear quickly so we can prepare to move out. What could possibly go wrong over th—"
Kal'tsit cut herself off mid-sentence. When she turned her head toward the pair, she discovered to her horror that the Demon King's expression had shifted drastically. She was no longer crying tears of quiet sorrow; instead, absolute terror was plastered across her face, and she was weeping as if she had just come face-to-face with the most horrifying monster in existence!
This time, even Kal'tsit couldn't keep her cool. Dropping a quick, tense "carry on" to her operators, she immediately threw down her clipboard and marched straight toward the two girls, desperate to find out what kind of unspeakable nightmare could possibly terrify a fearless idiot like Theresa.
Meanwhile, within the vision, Theresa felt the world suddenly tilt and violently spin the moment her focus drifted away from the holy maiden. Before she could steady herself, the sacred light vanished, and she plummeted into a completely different realm.
If the first half of Jeanne's soul could be described as a beautiful, pristine paradise, then this new place was a literal hell—a dark, agonizing purgatory.
Every single rolling hill and patch of earth was completely choked by twisted, jagged black iron thorns. Dark crimson flames tore through the sky, burning so fiercely that Theresa could feel a visceral, suffocating heat and a deep, instinctual terror that she shouldn't even be capable of feeling within a soul-bound vision.
The very instant her foot touched the blackened dirt, an overwhelming wave of dread gripped her heart. It was a profoundly unsettling sensation; she had never imagined that a mere landscape could strike such deep, paralyzing fear into her core.
While Theresa didn't view herself as an entirely fearless entity, she was a seasoned veteran who had survived countless bloody wars and catastrophic storms. Her mental fortitude was supposed to be ironclad—surely she wouldn't be reduced to trembling by a bit of dark imagery, right?
As she walked through the wasteland of shifting iron and roaring fire, she offered a silent prayer of thanks that she was only observing Jeanne's soul as an outside spectator. If she were physically present, the sheer intensity of these unnatural flames would have incinerated her instantly.
But what was this place? Was this the absolute manifestation of all the darkness hidden within Jeanne's heart? If a young girl's inner world was packed with this much concentrated malice and agony, Theresa couldn't help but seriously question if Jeanne's mental state was even remotely stable in the real world.
The sheer, violent division between her two halves left Theresa deeply concerned. Aside from a severe case of split personality or shattered sanity, she couldn't think of a single logical reason why a soul would be torn so radically down the middle.
Still, setting aside the terrifying environment, this was supposed to be the interior of Jeanne's spirit, wasn't it? Why couldn't she find the girl anywhere? Had some malevolent, ancient snake parasitized the poor child without anyone noticing?
Unlike the radiant paradise where the white-clad Jeanne could be seen walking openly, this burning hellscape was completely devoid of life. There was no sign of the girl anywhere—only the endless, mocking crackle of the crimson flames and the sinister twitching of the black thorns.
"Ahahaha... Hahahahahahahaha!!!"
Just as Theresa's confusion reached its peak, a sudden, piercing burst of laughter echoed through the valley! Yet, there wasn't a single shred of joy or warmth locked within that sound; it was a grating, manic roar that sounded like a demon howling from the depths of the pit.
It really was quite ironic, Theresa thought bitterly. Here she was, the literal Demon King of the Sarkaz, finding someone else's voice to be demonic. In the eyes of the entire world, shouldn't she be the most terrifying demon alive?
The moment that chilling laughter registered, every single hair on Theresa's body stood on end. The sound was deeply unsettling, sending a cold shiver down her spine, but as she listened closely, she realized the vocal cords undeniably belonged to Jeanne.
Sprinting toward the source of the noise, Theresa pushed through a curtain of smoke and froze. Standing a short distance away was a figure that looked identical to the Jeanne outside—wearing the exact same heavy plate armor and carrying the same frame—but her expression was a complete, horrifying inversion of the gentle girl she knew.
Looking into the girl's eyes, Theresa saw an abyss of bone-deep hatred and raw, unadulterated malice. The sheer intensity of that gaze gave off the terrifying impression that this woman wouldn't hesitate to burn the entire world to ashes just to satisfy her rage.
This Jeanne shared absolutely nothing in common with the white Saint. This was a dark witch who had completely cast aside her humanity to become an avenger—a catastrophic overlord who would happily tear the foundations of reality apart for the sake of her vengeance!
Theresa honestly felt that this dark version of the girl deserved the title of Demon King far more than she ever did.
Right at that moment, the black witch slowly turned her head, her gaze locking directly onto Theresa. When those dark golden eyes—swirling with a dormant, terrifying insanity—met hers, Theresa felt her very blood run completely ice-cold.
As someone naturally attuned to reading the emotions of others, Theresa was suddenly forced to confront the full, raw brunt of Jeanne's inner world. This was the volatile madness and destructive fury that the girl normally kept buried deep beneath her conscious mind, a tidal wave of hatred as vast and terrifying as a churning ocean.
"Has she... has she really been carrying this much crushing hatred and agony while walking across the face of this earth? To bear a weight like this and still maintain her sanity in the daylight... it truly is a magnificent, respectable feat."
Enduring that limitless malice, Theresa felt her own consciousness begin to falter. Even with the ancient, thousand-year memories of Kazdel anchoring her spirit, she felt like a fragile, pathetic wooden boat tossed about in a violent hurricane, on the verge of being dragged down into the dark ocean by the black waves.
To make matters worse, she suddenly realized that her own mystical power was slipping entirely out of her control! She was completely unable to deactivate her emotional reading ability, leaving her mind wide open as it frantically absorbed the raw, infectious madness bleeding from Jeanne's dark side.
The sheer toxicity of that hatred began to trigger something dark within Theresa's own heritage. The thousand-year wrath of the Sarkaz race buried in her blood began to churn violently, threatening to birth a dark incarnation of her own—an avenging specter of malice to mirror the black witch standing before her!
Just as Theresa was desperately suffocating under the pressure, praying for a way to stop this dark version of herself from being born, the roaring chaos suddenly vanished. Her eyes were tightly shut, but the manic screams and burning fires fell completely silent, replaced by an absolute, profound tranquility. It was a level of peace she hadn't felt in centuries!
It was a stillness so pure that even the ancient, heavy whispers of the Demon King's mantle could no longer reach her. She had honestly forgotten how many decades it had been since her soul had known such perfect comfort.
When Theresa slowly opened her eyes, she found herself lying down in a bright, peaceful area, her head resting gently on the white Jeanne's lap. However, when she first looked up, she couldn't actually see the girl's face—her entire field of vision was completely blocked by a pair of remarkably large, imposing curves.
The white Jeanne lowered her head, looking down at her with a soft, reassuring smile that instantly washed away every single trace of the lingering terror and dark corruption Theresa had absorbed.
Staring up at the gentle maiden, Theresa found it hard to believe that this comforting presence and the terrifying monster from a moment ago were actually the exact same person.
Back in the real world, having quickly dragged Theresa to an unnoticeable corner of the camp, Jeanne let out a massive sigh of relief as she watched the pink-haired woman's expression finally smooth back out into a calm state. She mentally scolded herself, realizing she had completely forgotten about the volatile, chaotic nature of her dark Avenger form!
Fortunately, the moment she had sensed something going wrong within the vision, she had scrambled to switch her forms back to the white Saint. If she had been a second too late, would she be looking at a completely corrupted, dark version of Theresa right now?
If that had happened, Kazdel probably would have achieved instant, terrifying peace. A dark Theresa would have undoubtedly thrown her absolute support behind Theresis's plans, and the situation would have degenerated to the point where Theresis himself would have to step in just to restrain her atrocities!
As Theresa fully regained consciousness in the waking world, her first view was once again entirely obstructed by those same massive, undeniable barriers, completely hiding Jeanne's face from view.
"I am incredibly sorry for making you worry," Theresa whispered, her voice carrying a touch of sheepish embarrassment as she carefully sat up. "I acted far too recklessly this time. But... there is something I must say to you. You have worked so incredibly hard, Jeanne. To carry a hatred of that magnitude and still hold onto your pristine sanity... it is truly remarkable."
Jeanne: "????"