A faint, intricate pattern of silvery lines, like a holy tattoo, appeared on her back for a moment before fading away.

When the light receded, she took a deep breath, a gasp of pure, unadulterated power.

She looked at her hands, then at me.

Her eyes, which had always held a human fire, now glowed with a faint, divine light.

A notification, visible only to me, appeared on my own System screen.

[Subordinate 'Isabelle Vhagar' has successfully evolved.]

[Class: Blade Saint]

[Body: B+]

[Swordsmanship: A]

[New Abilities Acquired: [Saint's Poise], [Blade of Light], [Aegis of the Saint]]

My jaw dropped.

A-Rank Swordsmanship. B-Plus Body.

She had just become a monster.

A beautiful, deadly, and divinely-powered monster.

"I feel…" she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet awe, "…strong."

"You are magnificent," I breathed.

I was about to pull her back into my arms, to celebrate her ascension in the most carnal, demonic way possible, when a cold, terrible thought hit me.

A thought that had nothing to do with strategy, and everything to do with my own, stupid, degenerate circus-clown of a love life.

Chloe.

My other secret. My fanatical, possessive, and terrifyingly perceptive Dark High Elf.

She was already jealous of Isabelle's position.

And now, Isabelle had just received a massive, glorious, divine power-up.

I had a terrible, sinking feeling that my own private cold war was about to go nuclear.

And my dick was ground zero.

------------------

The air in the Throne Room was thick with a new kind of tension.

It wasn't the usual simmering rivalry between my commanders.

It was a sharp, palpable awe, mixed with a healthy dose of professional jealousy.

Isabelle stood in the center of the vast, crystal chamber, a pillar of quiet, newfound power.

The light from the enchanted crystals seemed to bend around her, drawn to the faint, divine aura that now clung to her like a second skin.

Her evolution to Blade Saint had changed her.

She was still my Isabelle, but she was also… more.

"The power spike is… statistically significant, my Lord," Pixia squeaked from my shoulder. She was frantically running simulations on her tiny holographic console. "Her projected combat effectiveness has increased by over 300%. She is, for all intents and purposes, a walking, talking divine punishment."

"I can see that, Pixia," I said, a slow, predatory smile touching my lips.

But a question remained. How significant?

How did my new, divinely-powered Saint stack up against my most expensive, soul-crushingly costly investment?

"Izayoi," I commanded, my voice echoing in the silent chamber.

My Vampire Baron appeared from the shadows, a silent, elegant specter of bored, aristocratic menace.

He gave Isabelle a long, appraising look, his midnight-dark eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second.

"You wished to see me, my Lord?" he asked, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that dripped with condescension.

"I require a benchmark," I explained, gesturing to Isabelle. "A sparring match. You versus our newly ascended Saint. No killing. No maiming. Well, maybe a little maiming. First one to yield, or be put in a position where they would be very, very dead, loses."

Izayoi's lips curved into a faint, cruel smile. "As you command, my Lord. It has been a while since I have had a proper… workout."

The other commanders formed a loose circle, their faces a study in monstrous anticipation.

Setanta was practically vibrating with excitement, his spear, Gáe Bolg, humming in his hand. He looked like a kid who had just been promised a front-row seat to a championship wrestling match.

Chloe stood in the shadows, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of cold, professional indifference. But I could feel the waves of pure, undiluted jealousy radiating from her.

Isabelle had received a glorious, divine power-up.

Chloe had received a night of vigorous, demonic fucking.

In her mind, it was not an even trade.

"Begin!" I roared.

BOOM!

They moved at the same instant.

Izayoi was a phantom. A blur of black and silver that seemed to teleport across the crystal floor, a pair of wicked-looking, shadow-forged stilettos appearing in his hands.

But Isabelle was waiting for him.

She didn't move. She simply… was.

Her new sword, Dáinsleif, was a whisper of dark metal in her hand.

CRACK!

The sound was like a thunderclap in the vast, crystal chamber.

Izayoi's stilettos met Isabelle's blade in a detonation of pure, untamed energy.

A massive shockwave of swirling light and shadow erupted from the point of impact, blasting outwards in a perfect, expanding sphere.

The very foundations of the Spire trembled.

Both of them were thrown backward, skidding across the polished crystal floor.

"Impressive," Izayoi purred, a flicker of genuine surprise in his dark eyes. "You have a new trick, little Saint."

"I have many," Isabelle replied, her voice as calm and as cold as the grave.

The spar became a beautiful, terrifying dance of death.

Izayoi was a whirlwind of shadow and steel.

He used his Nightmare Assassin abilities, teleporting through the gloom, creating illusory clones, striking from a dozen angles at once.

But Isabelle was an unshakeable mountain of perfect, divine defense.

Her new ability, [Saint's Poise], seemed to let her predict his movements a fraction of a second before he made them.

Her blade was everywhere at once, a flawless wall of dark, humming steel.

BOOM! CRACK! BOOM!

A constant, deafening symphony of sonic booms and shockwaves filled the throne room as their battle raged.

The wind shrieked, a vortex of tortured air swirling around the two combatants.

"This is getting boring," Izayoi hissed, his aristocratic composure finally starting to fray.

He vanished.

And reappeared directly behind Isabelle, his stiletto aimed at the back of her neck in a perfect, textbook assassination strike.

BOOM!

The ground cracked as he put all his speed, all his power, into the killing blow.

But Isabelle wasn't there.

She had spun, not to block, but to attack, her body moving with a fluid, impossible grace.

Her blade, now glowing with a soft, white light—[Blade of Light]—was a blur of motion.

It was not aimed at Izayoi.

It was aimed at the floor beneath his feet.

CRACK!

Her sword struck the crystal floor. The impact was a focused detonation of holy energy.

A massive shockwave of pure, white light blasted outwards, shattering the floor into a million glittering shards.

Izayoi, caught in the blast, let out a sharp hiss of pain as the holy light seared his vampiric flesh.

His shadow-step faltered.

He stumbled.

It was all the opening she needed.

She was upon him, her face a mask of cold, divine judgment.

Dáinsleif was a whisper at his throat.

Silence.

The spar was over.

Izayoi stood frozen, the tip of the dark blade a cold promise against his skin.

A single drop of his blue, aristocratic blood welled up and trickled down the length of the blade.

"I yield," he said, his voice a low, furious growl of pure, undiluted humiliation.

Isabelle withdrew her blade, the holy light fading.

I stared.

My 1000-CP, SSS-rank, ultra-rare Vampire Baron… had just been defeated.

Not just defeated. Outplayed. Out-thought.

By a former human.

A new, terrifying thought hit me with the force of one of Reina's punches.

I was impressed. I was proud.

But I was also deeply, profoundly terrified.

A single, evolved human could do this.

What could a party of twelve of them do?

What could an army of them do?

The balance of power in this entire, insane world had just shifted.

And I needed to stay ahead of the curve.

"We have our next target," I announced, my voice echoing with a new, urgent purpose.

"The Dwarf King of Hakui. We need his forge. We need his skills. We need his weapons."

I looked at my assembled forces.

At my victorious, divine Saint.

At my seething, jealous shadow.

At my humiliated, furious Baron.

"We march at dawn," I declared. "The time for playing games is over."

"It's time to build an arsenal."

The air in the Throne Room was thick with a new kind of tension.

It wasn't the simmering rivalry between my commanders, though that was still present, a low, homicidal hum in the background.

It was a sharp, palpable awe, mixed with a healthy dose of professional jealousy.

Isabelle stood in the center of the vast, crystal chamber, a pillar of quiet, newfound power.

The light from the enchanted crystals seemed to bend around her, drawn to the faint, divine aura that now clung to her like a second skin.

Her evolution to Blade Saint had changed her.

She was still my Isabelle, but she was also… more.

"The power spike is… statistically significant, my Lord," Pixia squeaked from my shoulder.

She was frantically running simulations on her tiny holographic console.

"Her projected combat effectiveness has increased by over 300%."

"She is, for all intents and purposes, a walking, talking divine punishment."

"I can see that, Pixia," I said, a slow, predatory smile touching my lips.

But a question remained. How significant?

How did my new, divinely-powered Saint stack up against my most expensive, soul-crushingly costly investment?

"Izayoi," I commanded, my voice echoing in the silent chamber.