Chapter 953: The Sinful Sorceress

But even as pride swelled in his chest, Cassius’s mind churned with questions he couldn’t answer. Because none of this should have been possible.

When Isabelle had murmured that quiet wish to herself, it had been barely a whisper.

The kind of private longing a person speaks into the world without expecting anyone to hear.

And yet.

A message had blazed through his consciousness, direct and unmistakable.

"Well, well. It seems my sister has taken an interest in your little wife."

The Goddess of Debauchery’s voice, typically dripping with playful seduction.

Cassius had seized the connection immediately.

"What do you mean? What’s happening?"

"Freya, my dear sister, heard your Isabelle’s request. And she’s chosen to grant it."

A pause, and then, with something that sounded almost like genuine confusion,

"She’s allowing your blessing to flow through the girl. Under certain...conditions."

"Why?" Cassius had demanded. "Why would Freya care about—"

"I honestly don’t know."

The admission had landed like a stone in still water.

"You...don’t know?"

"The moment the request reached her, she contacted me directly and instructed me to permit the transfer. No explanation. No justification."

The Goddess’s voice had carried a rare note of puzzlement.

"My sister does not act without reason. But whatever that reason is, she has chosen not to share it with me."

And then the connection had severed, leaving Cassius standing in the forest with a thousand questions burning on his tongue.

None of this made sense. People across the continent prayed to the goddesses every single day.

Minor requests—help me pass this examination, guide me to my true love, let my crops survive the winter.

Desperate pleas—spare my dying child, save my village from the plague, give me the strength to survive this battle.

The Goddesses received countless prayers, countless wishes, countless cries for divine intervention.

And they ignored almost all of them. The heavens had their own concerns, their own machinations, their own inscrutable purposes.

Mortal prayers were background noise, the static of existence that the divine learned to filter out.

But Isabelle had made one quiet wish, and a Goddess had not only heard her but had reached out to another Goddess, coordinated a transfer of divine power, and made it happen in the span of a single heartbeat.

Why? What made Isabelle so special?

The question gnawed at him. His mind began to wander down increasingly wild paths of speculation.

Could Isabelle be some sort of demigod? A daughter of the heavens, hidden among mortals for reasons unknown?

The idea seemed absurd—and yet, ever since Joy had entered that strange state of consciousness and Cassius had witnessed the impossible sight of two versions of her existing simultaneously, the absurd had become disturbingly plausible.

And it hadn’t been just Joy.

From time to time, the phenomenon recurred.

He would glance at Isabelle and see two Isabels—one the devoted maid he adored, the other a being of such luminous grace that his breath would catch in his throat.

The same thing happened with Skadi sometimes, her wolf ears and tail suddenly seeming less like beastkin features and more like the regalia of some ancient forest spirit.

Every woman he was close to, every woman he loved—occasionally, he would see them in double vision, their mortal forms overlaid with something far greater.

What did it mean? Why was this happening?

Were they all connected to the divine somehow?

Were they reincarnations? Avatars? Descendants of forgotten bloodlines?

Isabelle being the daughter of a goddess didn’t seem nearly as far-fetched as it should have.

But he couldn’t be certain.

Of course, time and again, he had tried to reach the Goddess of Nature directly—prayed to her, called out to her, even begged her to speak with him.

Yet she refused to speak. Refused to answer. No matter how desperately he reached out, the Goddess of Nature maintained absolute silence.

It was infuriating. Maddening. He was drowning in questions, and the one being who held all the answers simply...watched.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was be grateful that Freya had granted his wife to experience the joy of battle and fulfil a dream she had cherished since childhood.

For that, at least, he owed her his thanks.

—

Speaking of Isabelle—what exactly was she doing now?

Cassius turned his attention back to the clearing, and his eyebrows shot upward.

The battle was over. That much was immediately obvious.

Wolf corpses littered the ground in various states of disassembly—some torn apart, others smashed into unrecognizable pulp, still others ripped cleanly in half.

Blood painted the grass in abstract patterns. It was utter mayhem, the kind of carnage that suggested a small army had swept through.

But it wasn’t the carnage that made Cassius pause.

It was Isabelle.

And currently his poor wife was being mobbed.

The warriors of the Blood and Iron Brigade had surrounded her in a tight, excited circle.

Ogres loomed over her with expressions of fierce admiration.

Mages pressed close with burning curiosity in their eyes.

Beastkin practically vibrated with enthusiasm, their tails wagging and ears twitching.

They weren’t attacking her. They were worshipping her!

Questions flew at Isabelle from every direction like arrows in a barrage.

"What was that?! Those wolves were torn apart without you even touching them!"

"Was that some kind of weapon?! Where were you hiding it?!"

"I’ve never seen anything like it! You didn’t even move your hands for that last one!"

One of the ogres, a massive female with scars crisscrossing her blue arms shoved her way to the front, her eyes practically glowing with excitement.

"Can you teach me that?! Please! I need to learn how to crush enemies without lifting a finger!"

Another ogre immediately elbowed her aside.

"No! Teach me first! Did you see what she did to that giant one?! She grabbed it out of the air and threw it! THREW IT!"

"Ladies, ladies—let the mages through!"

A human woman with silver-streaked hair pushed past the ogres, her expression one of intense, academic fascination.

"I detected absolutely no magical energy from you during that entire fight! None! Zero! What technique were you using?!"

"Exactly!" Another mage appeared at her elbow, nodding furiously. "There wasn’t even an incantation! No mana fluctuation, no elemental reaction, no visible spell matrix—nothing!"

"How did you produce physical attacks without casting a single spell?!"

"Could it be a new form of spatial manipulation?" A third mage speculated, stroking his chin.

"Impossible." The first mage countered. "If it were spatial magic, we would have detected the dimensional distortion. There was none."

"Then perhaps it’s some kind of innate telekinetic ability—"

"But she had no mana signature!"

The two mages stared at each other, their argument already taking on the familiar rhythm of academic rivalry.

One of the beastkin, a young fox-eared woman with bright amber eyes suddenly threw herself at Isabelle’s feet with alarming intensity.

"JOIN OUR ARMY!"

Everyone turned to stare at her.

"What?!"

"Why are you shouting that?!"

"Because!" The wolf-kin planted her fists on her hips. "Anyone who can fight like THAT belongs on the battlefield! Imagine what she could do against a REAL enemy force! Imagine—"

"Forget joining the army!" Another beastkin raised both fists. "Make her our COMMANDER!"

"Yes! I’d follow her anywhere!"

"Me too!"

"Can you cut down an ogre with those invisible things?!" Someone shouted.

One of the ogres immediately looked deeply offended.

"Why are you asking if she can cut down an ogre?!"

"Because that would be impressive!"

"Then ask her if she can cut down a dragon!"

"YES!" The entire group swiveled toward Isabel. "CAN YOU CUT DOWN A DRAGON?!"

"Or—wait—how many wolves can you kill at once?!"

"Can you fight an entire army by yourself?!"

"Can you kill something without even looking at it?!"

The questions grew increasingly absurd.

"Are those invisible things attached to your body?!"

"How far away can you control them?!"

"Can they go through walls?!"

"Can they fly?!"

"Can you use them to pick things up?!"

One particularly curious beastkin tilted her head, her raccoon tail twitching thoughtfully.

"Could you use them to steal someone’s lunch without them noticing?"

The mages immediately stared at her with expressions of profound disappointment.

"That is your question?!"

"It’s an important question!"

Isabelle stood in the center of this whirlwind, utterly overwhelmed.

The beastkin were looking at her like they wanted to drag her away and conscript her on the spot.

The ogres were sizing her up like they wanted to challenge her to a sparring match just to experience her power firsthand.

The mages were staring with scientific fascination, already debating theories about her mysterious abilities.

She could only stammer, her voice barely audible above the chaos.

"I...I am...I am actually..."

But she couldn’t finish. What could she possibly say?!

She didn’t understand these powers herself. She had simply trusted Cassius, walked onto the battlefield, and kicked some ass.

She had no explanation for what she had done!

The questions kept coming, faster and faster, and Isabelle felt herself shrinking under the weight of their expectations.

Until—

"Hold on now."

The voice cut through the chaos.

"Don’t bombard my wife with all those questions. She’s a bit timid, and you’ll overwhelm her."

The crowd parted.

Cassius stood at the edge of the clearing, hands folded behind his back, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He walked forward with unhurried confidence, every eye tracking his approach.

One of the ogres squinted at him. "Who are you?"

"I’m her husband." Cassius replied smoothly.

The ogre’s eyes went wide. "YOU’RE her husband? How can that be?!" She leaned closer, studying him with obvious skepticism. "You look so...so..."

She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Weak." Another ogre supplied helpfully. "He looks really weak."

One of the beastkin immediately smacked the back of her head.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Did you really just say that out loud?!" The beastkin hissed. "Is it somehow necessary for him to be strong to be married to her?!"

"I didn’t mean it like THAT!" The ogre rubbed her head, looking genuinely confused by the reprimand.

"I just meant...if I had that kind of power, I’d want to marry someone who was at least as strong as me! Someone who could match me in battle! That’s all!"

Several other ogres nodded in solemn agreement.

"That makes sense."

"You want a partner who can match you."

"Strength attracts strength."

The human mages, meanwhile, simply shook their heads in collective dismay.

"Meatheads." One of them muttered.

"Muscleheads." Another agreed.

"They can’t comprehend relationships beyond combat capability."

Cassius found himself genuinely amused.

Each race displayed its characteristic traits so clearly—the ogres were straightforward to the point of simplicity, viewing the world entirely through the lens of strength and combat.

The human mages were analytical, constantly observing and categorizing.

The beastkin were enthusiastic and impulsive, driven by emotion and instinct.

They were exactly what he’d expected from the warriors of the Blood and Iron Brigade.

But he hadn’t come here to be analyzed. He’d come here to set the stage.

Drawing Isabelle closer, he turned to address the crowd with the easy confidence of a born performer.

"Setting my humble self aside, do any of you actually recognize the legendary woman standing before you?"

Isabelle’s cheeks flushed crimson as every eye in the clearing turned toward her with renewed focus.

Cassius paused for dramatic effect, letting the anticipation build.

Then he announced, with the flair of a showman unveiling his greatest attraction:

"She is...The Sinful Sorceress!"

The moment the name left his lips, Isabelle’s heart nearly stopped.

She knew that name. She knew it intimately.

It was what Cassius called her in bed!

In those private, passionate moments when she was drawing out his pleasure with such skill that he could only gasp and moan and call her his ’Sinful Sorceress.’

A mage of pleasure who cast divine spells of ecstasy upon his body.

She had never minded it in that context. In fact, she had found it rather endearing. Arousing, even.

The playful blasphemy of it, the way it transformed their lovemaking into something magical and forbidden—it had always turned her on.

But to announce that name here?!

In front of all these warriors?! These noble soldiers who had just witnessed her fighting and were looking at her with such admiration?!

She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole!