🌐 Language / 言語
🇺🇸 [English Edition]
🇯🇵 [日本語版]
Vyzoa was born into a prestigious noble house, but she was never meant to be its heir. Her mother was not a lady of the court, but a common maid. Driven out by the jealous legal wife with a meager handful of coins, Vyzoa’s mother vanished, leaving her daughter behind to be raised as a servant in her own home.
Vyzoa’s childhood was a masterclass in isolation. She grew up amidst cold glares and the mocking whispers of the staff. Her striking beauty and brilliant mind only fueled the hatred of her half-siblings, deepening her solitude. Her father never once stepped in to protect her; to him, she was an invisible stain on the family name.
The father was a man devoid of noble dignity. He was a dealer of death, amassing a fortune by selling weapons to foreign lands. These were not tools to slay the Beast-Devils, but instruments designed solely to kill fellow humans. His reputation as a cold-blooded war profiteer was infamous, both within the manor and beyond its walls.
When Vyzoa turned twelve, she stumbled upon the cellar where her father’s secret stock was kept. Seeing the mountains of cold steel, she realized the truth of her lineage. She loathed her father, the “Merchant of Death,” and cursed the very blood that flowed through her veins. In that darkness, a resolve was born: she would walk a path opposite to his.
Seeking salvation, she turned to the Kingdom’s national religion. She took the core tenet—Justice requires power—and twisted it to fit her own conviction: Only the powerful are righteous. She no longer sought the wealth of a noble; she hungered for a justice forged in pure power and absolute faith.
Then, one day, a gentle light pierced her chest. It was the Revelation.
In that moment of blessing, she awakened to the twin powers of psychokinesis and sensory perception. When her father learned his “worthless” daughter had been chosen as a Holy Maiden, he was ecstatic. To him, she was finally useful—a trophy to elevate his house’s standing.
When he summoned her to his study, a silver pistol lay gleaming on his desk. “Well done, my daughter,” he said, his voice dripping with false pride. “Take this weapon and fulfill your duty as a Maiden.”
Vyzoa offered him a gentle, serene smile.
“Thank you, Father.”
In an instant, her power flared. The pistol rose from the desk on its own, its muzzle locking onto the center of her father’s forehead. He froze, his face a mask of sudden, pale terror.
Vyzoa’s smile remained, but her eyes were cold as the void. “In the name of the Goddess. As a Maiden, I shall execute justice.”
A single, sharp crack echoed through the winter air.
Stepping outside, Vyzoa felt the biting wind against her cheeks. She looked up at the starlit sky. No matter how brutal the coming war might be, she would not falter. Feeling the light burning in her chest, she began her journey.
Two years later—after slaughtering countless monsters and being hailed as a savior—Vyzoa ascended to the throne of the Kingdom of Ezaris.
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