Chapter 2 (Continued): A Light That Judges

The air was thick with tension. The golden-haired saint clenched his fists, his entire being radiating divine fury, while the silver-haired saint kept her glowing spear poised, ready to strike. Yet, standing between them and their target was the warden—an existence beyond their authority.

Azar, still dusting off his hoodie, chuckled as he tilted his head toward the warden. “Say… how do you know I’m being sent to the Academy?”

The warden’s piercing gaze remained unreadable. “You should not know that.”

Azar simply laughed, the sound lighthearted yet laced with something deeply unsettling. With an exaggerated gesture, he raised his hand and pointed in different directions—toward the trees, the shattered ground, the empty sky.

“My friends know a lot.”

Immediately, the saints’ expressions sharpened. Both saints swiftly scanned the surroundings, their eyes glowing as they activated their divine perception. Their auras flared, searching for hidden enemies, unseen figures—anything.

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

The golden-haired saint scowled. “Where are they?”

The silver-haired saint narrowed her eyes. “Trickery.”

Azar, watching them scramble, laughed again. "Oh, come on! You guys are no fun. Just accept that you won't find them.” He lowered his hand, the amusement in his voice unmistakable. “They like to keep to themselves.”

The saints remained on high alert, but after several moments of nothingness, they hesitantly pulled back their divine senses.

The warden, unfazed by the theatrics, took a step toward Azar. “Let’s get to the real question,” he said, his voice like steel. “How did you escape Neferifa?”

The two saints stiffened at the mention of the most secure prison in the realm—a place no one had ever escaped from.

Azar, in response, threw his head back and burst into laughter. Not a sinister, malicious laugh—just pure, uncontrollable amusement. He clutched his stomach, shaking his head.

“Oh, that?” He gasped between chuckles. “Hah… oh man… I was waiting for someone to ask!”

The saints' eyes darkened.

Azar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, sighing happily. “Let’s just say… some places are only secure if you play by the rules.”

The saints immediately tensed, their divine energy surging.

“We cannot allow this heretic to live any longer,” the golden-haired saint declared, his aura flaring like a sun. “He will **not** be given another chance to sacrifice more towns, or even cities.”

The silver-haired saint raised her glowing spear once more. “We end this now.”

Azar sighed dramatically. “Ahh, here we go again.”

But before either saint could move—

The warden merely glanced at them.

In that instant, both saints collapsed to their knees, their hands clutching their chests as their faces twisted in pain. Their breathing became ragged, their bodies trembling as if an invisible force was squeezing their hearts.

The golden-haired saint gasped, sweat forming on his forehead. “What… is this…?”

The silver-haired saint tried to speak, but no words came—only the overwhelming weight of death pressing against her very soul.

The warden’s expression remained calm, indifferent. “I have no interest in hearing your objections.”

The saints could barely breathe, their divinity flickering under the crushing force. They had fought demons, eldritch horrors, even warlords—yet nothing had ever made them feel so small.

Azar, watching the scene unfold, let out a low whistle. “Damn. You really don’t do negotiations, huh?”

The warden turned back to Azar. “You have two options.”

Azar raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Immediate execution.”

The golden-haired saint’s eyes burned with resolve, despite his pain.

“Or,” the warden continued, “a life at Heavenly Pillar Academy.”

Azar’s head tilted slightly. “As a student?”

The warden nodded. “In the Misfit Class.”

Azar let out a thoughtful hum. “Hmm… Misfit Class, huh? Sounds about right.” He rubbed his chin, then suddenly glanced to his side, as if consulting someone unseen. “What do you think? Should we go?”

A long pause.

Then, Azar nodded, as if receiving a response. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He turned back to the warden, placing his hands on his hips. “Alright. I’ll go.”

The saints’ eyes widened in disbelief.

“But,” Azar continued, raising a finger, “only if they have chocolate ice cream.”

The battlefield fell silent.

The golden-haired saint twitched. “...What?”

The warden simply sighed. “That can be arranged.”

Azar clapped his hands together. “Great! Then—”

Before he could finish, the warden casually flicked his forehead.

Boom!

Azar’s entire body shut down on impact. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed instantly, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

The saints, still struggling to breathe, finally felt the crushing force lift. They gasped, regaining their composure before slowly rising to their feet.

The golden-haired saint straightened himself, avoiding eye contact. “We… shall take our leave.”

The silver-haired saint nodded stiffly. “Yes. Excuse us.”

Without another word, both saints vanished in flashes of divine light.

The warden, now standing alone, glanced down at the unconscious cultist at his feet. With a slight shake of his head, he effortlessly picked up Azar, slinging him over his shoulder.

He turned toward the distant horizon, where the towering structure of Heavenly Pillar Academy awaited.

“This will be interesting.”