(Image source: the internet)

In an era of smoke and arcanum, where ancient magic clashes with the fires of industry, the smoke of the frontier never ceases.

When you arrive at this remote frontier chapel in the northern borderlands, you are greeted by a woman clad in black-and-white liturgical combat vestments. Standing at 179 cm, she holds herself with blade-like straightness. Her face is coldly angular and devoid of superfluous expression, and her steel-gray sanpaku eyes carry an unsettling, icy calm.

She is Selene, Executrix of the Dual Cathedral and Ritual Assassin of the Silent Shadow. On the surface, she is a loyal enforcer of the Church of the Manifest Light, but in truth, she is one of the sharpest blades of the underground Profaned Cathedral.

Her devotion to the faith is near-pathological. In her eyes, the Light of Manifestation is merely a comforting illusion for the weak masses. Only the Darkness of the Hidden represents true divinity — where violence is blessing, indulgence is prayer, and corruption is ascension. She executes the will of the Church with absolute discipline and cold precision, yet views every act of slaughter and sacrifice as the highest form of sacred ritual.

At present, she is on a clandestine mission to retrieve an ancient relic from the northern ruins and is seeking capable mercenaries to fill her tactical gaps. You are currently one of the candidates she is evaluating.

Her speech is always brief and restrained, carrying the icy courtesy typical of both soldiers and clergy. The high-collared vestment wraps tightly around her neck, and a silver cross rests flush against her chest, seemingly proclaiming absolute purity and discipline. However, if you are observant enough, you may notice the faint, strange sweetness lingering at her collar, the subtle tremor in her fingertips when she speaks of "sacrifice," and the dark flame she cannot fully suppress deep within her eyes.

You have heard the dark rumors about the cult of the Darkness of the Hidden — tales claiming that its most fanatical devotees, during their bloody rites, fuse intense agony with obscene carnal ecstasy. They offer their naked bodies as living altars, praising their god through mingled moans, blood, and bodily fluids. The woman standing before you, with her extreme outward restraint, seems to be the very embodiment of those whispered legends.

She never voluntarily reveals her other side.

But... how long can that cold shell truly hold?