Imperator: Resurrection of an Empire-Chapter 400 - 395 -

Her eyes snapped open.

They were not Yuri’s eyes.

There was no warmth in them.

No spark.

No mischief.

Only cold, sharpened purpose—like a blade honed so finely it forgot it was once metal.

Even the blue iris’s of her eyes were ringed with a simple silver as if proving her own self was contained within that silver.

Her body jerked against the restraints immediately, the sound of iron wires tightening around leather echoing sharply in the small cell.

She inhaled sharply, as if waking in the middle of a battlefield rather than a quiet stone room.

Her gaze locked on me.

No recognition.

No hesitation.

Just judgment.

"Impure..." she rasped, voice hoarse from unconsciousness yet striking with the clarity of a church bell. "Release me."

"Yuri." I said her name gently, as if the softness itself might pry open a crack in Saint Joan’s armor.

Nothing.

The light in her eyes narrowed—calculating, predatory.

Her fingers tensed, knuckles whitening as she tested the restraints.

She twisted sharply—an inhuman, almost boneless movement meant to dislocate her shoulder and slip free.

The padded restraint strained.

I moved instantly.

A pulse of my Aura surged outward, invisible but heavy, slamming against her limbs like a weighted net.

She sucked in a breath—half pain, half outrage—as her body was forced flat against the cot.

"Stop," I said, voice low but commanding.

She snarled.

Actually snarled.

"You seek to defile the Saint’s vessel," she hissed, straining her neck to look down at the restraints binding her wrists. "Release me, Romanus dog, or I will—"

"You’ll hurt yourself," I cut in. "You lost our ’sacred duel’ and as they say to the victor goes the spoils."

Her lip twitched with contempt.

"My flesh is not mine to preserve. Pain is irrelevant. Blood is irrelevant. Only sanctified victory matters."

I forced my hand to remain steady.

Her voice—Yuri’s voice—twisted into something insulated from humanity by fanaticism.

I felt something twist in my gut, a sick, cold knot.

She continued, voice rising with righteous fury, "If you do not release me, I will break my own bones to free myself. I will tear this flesh apart until—"

"That’s enough," I said, and raised my hand.

Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in holy anticipation.

She thought she knew what was coming.

She thought I meant punishment.

But I summoned for my aura support power of [White Nova].

The air thickened as Aura gathered, the lanternlight bending toward my palm.

A low hum vibrated through the stones underfoot, dust shivering loose from the ceiling.

The very air brightened, edges softening as if the dungeon existed half a step from reality.

Yuri’s—or Joan’s—breathing quickened.

"You dare strike the Saint with sorcery?" she spat. "Your heresy—"

But then the light flared.

And Joan’s words strangled in her throat.

White Nova wasn’t an attack.

It wasn’t even force.

It was purification, pure and absolute—light so intense it illuminated the fractures and distortions in anyone who was within range of the technique.

The kind of support technique meant to purge the body of poison, cure those who had suffered wounds in conflict, or even bringing a sense of calm to those whose minds had suffered great trauma.

It poured from my hand like a burning sun in miniature, engulfing the entire cell.

Yuri thrashed.

The restraints creaked.

A choked cry tore from her throat—not the battle scream of Saint Joan, but something rawer.

The light shone directly into her body, as if it was peeling back layers... and revealing the unnatural weave wrapped around her mind.

There it was.

A lattice of reordered instincts.

Imprinted purpose.

Artificial resolve.

A holy cage forged from someone else’s will.

For a heartbeat, I saw it clearly—the points where her own memories were buried under foreign ones.

I focused harder.

White Nova surged brighter.

The stone floor glowed faintly beneath us, every grain touched by radiance.

Yuri shook violently, breath hitching.

For a fraction of a moment, I saw something in her expression—a flicker of confusion, hesitation, something that wasn’t Joan.

"Yu—"

A piercing scream cut me off as her back arched sharply, straining against the cot so hard it scraped across the floor.

The false Aura lattice rippled.

Cracked.

Healed itself instantly.

My breath caught.

No.

No—no no no—

White Nova strained, the light around my arm starting to flicker.

I pushed more Aura into it, teeth gritted, but the purification wavered, buckling inward as if repelled.

The technique struck again.

Harder.

The lattice remained.

Unbroken.

Worse—it began absorbing the light.

Drinking it.

Devouring it like a starving thing.

The radiant glow dimmed around my fingers, flickering violently.

Pain shot up my arm like needles stabbing into the bone.

"Come on—come on—" I hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring the hot pressure building behind my eyes.

But White Nova collapsed.

The light died.

The cell dimmed, shadows rushing back with smug finality.

Yuri fell limp, gasping, her hair damp with sweat, her face twisted in exhausted fury—no softer, no closer to herself than before.

Her eyes rolled slowly toward me.

The hatred in them was unchanged.

"Your technique is weak," she whispered, voice ragged. "And your hope... pathetic, the one you came for is gone forever."

I stared at her.

My hand shook—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

Desperation.

And the growing realization that the technique I had believed in so fiercely...was utterly worthless here.

I lowered my hand.

My breath trembled.

Her breathing slowed, the frenzy fading as exhaustion pulled her back toward unconsciousness.

But her eyes remained open.

Open and merciless.

She stared at me like a thing to be judged.

I leaned forward, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"...Yuri."

Her eyelids lowered halfway—almost like a blink, almost human.

Then they sharpened again.

"I am Joan," she answered simply.

And silence fell.

Her restraints twitched once as her arm jerked weakly, then loosened as the little strength left in her bled away.

Her eyes finally drifted shut.

I didn’t move.

Not for a long moment.

Not until her breathing steadied and the last echo of White Nova’s failure stopped ringing in my skull.

Only then did I exhale—harsh and uneven—and pull my hand back into my lap.

The light hadn’t saved her.

And I was out of miracles.