“I mean… isn’t this a bit too much?”

When that breathtaking figure, adorned in a splendid white gown, stepped out from the tome, Moen felt a chill that set his scalp tingling.

Because he also saw that dazzling, unapproachable crown above the figure’s head.

The Crowned!

It was actually one of the Crowned!

The god of love had sent one of the Crowned to hunt him down?

Surely not. In her eyes, wasn’t he just a mere insignificant insect? Even if he had somehow provoked them, there was no need to crush him like a bulldozer crushes an ant.

Wait.

No.

Moen quickly realized something.

The god of love’s true aim—their real purpose—wasn’t him at all.

Because ever since the Crowned had appeared, she hadn’t spared him a single glance.

Her gaze had been fixed downward, at something beneath the academy, as if staring through the thick layers of rock, focusing on something else entirely.

In those pristine yet hollow eyes, there was a faint trace of greed that did not belong to her.

She was searching for something—pursuing something extremely important.

But that didn’t stop her from killing Moen, the nuisance, in the process.

And so, her naturally lowered hands twitched slightly, her pinky moving just a fraction.

In the next instant, Moen felt as though an invisible dump truck had slammed into his chest. A massive force struck him, and with a muffled groan, he spat out a mouthful of blood.

With just the twitch of a finger, Moen was gravely injured in an instant.

But as the Saintess of Purity’s pinky continued to move, preparing to finish off this annoying man completely, a figure suddenly appeared by his side.

Professor Grant.

He took hold of Moen’s shoulder and casually tossed out a handkerchief.

The handkerchief suddenly expanded, enveloping the two of them.

Then, like a magic trick, the handkerchief—formerly outlining two humanoid shapes—immediately lost its form and floated to the ground in the breeze.

The two were gone—like a dramatic disappearing act.

The Saintess of Purity withdrew her regard.

She paid no further attention to the fleeing Grant and Moen.

There would be plenty of opportunities in the future to kill that irritating insect. For now, there were far more pressing matters at hand.

Suddenly, the Saintess of Purity raised her hand—those long, pale, absolutely flawless hands.

She directed her hand toward the entire academy shrouded in the night.

Her ten fingers folded inward, gripping the void.

It was as if she held the wedge that fixed heaven and earth in place.

And then, she pulled.

The earth trembled!

The entire academy began to quake—from its perimeter, a faint and nearly imperceptible crack stretched outward, encircling the campus entirely before closing back into itself.

Within that crack, all the academy’s foundations began steadily rising, as if some force, sufficient to shake even heaven and earth, were uprooting the entire institution from its base!

“Sigh.”

A heavy sigh broke the air.

Leaning on his cane with one hand and holding a pale pink, star-patterned wand with the other, Professor Pulan stood in front of the Saintess of Purity.

“It's been a while, Belrena.”

Professor Pulan looked at the Saintess of Purity, his expression somber. In his old, weary eyes, there lingered a sorrow that not even the passage of time could erase.

“My proudest student.”

Though the Saintess of Purity outwardly retained the appearance of a tender young girl, as one of the few unparalleled warriors in the human world, she had long since ceased to be truly young.

Even figures like Pink Bear or Headmistress Hatherway, who governed the academy, were considered her juniors.

When she had enrolled at the academy, Professor Pulan had been nothing more than a young teacher, freshly inducted into the education sector. To have raised an outstanding Saintess was indeed a matter of great pride for him at the time.

Even now, among all the students Professor Pulan had mentored, few could match the achievements of this renowned Saintess.

But he didn’t care for her achievements or her lofty status.

What mattered was those years spent with her when she was yet a girl—those few years of innocent, lively, and kind interactions, during which he had been genuinely captivated by her gem-like noble qualities.

Back then, despite being her teacher, he had found himself learning far more from her.

Thus, he had always cherished this child—much like a father—watching her transform from a fledgling to a soaring white swan, with nothing but pride in his heart.

“Yet never did I expect that decades later, our reunion would look like this.”

Professor Pulan gripped his cane tightly, the veins on his hand bulging.

“Fate, indeed, is difficult to fathom.”

“Woo... woo…”

The Saintess of Purity’s vacant eyes revealed no trace of emotion—only coldness.

And yet, her expression grew increasingly mournful.

“So that’s how it is. To completely control you, the dark god has almost wiped out your consciousness entirely?”

Looking at Belrena, Professor Pulan suddenly realized the truth.

And then, a smile emerged on his aged and sorrowful face.

“Yes, of course. This is you.”

“This is the Saintess of Purity—the one revered and adored by countless people, whose statues still stand across many lands!”

“If you had retained your own will, you’d have battled the dark god to the bitter end.”

“So even stained by the dark god, only through erasing your consciousness completely can it control you!”

Yet even under its control, this Saintess instinctively grieved.

She defied the invasive, soul-corrupting hymn with the weeping spirit of sorrow.

“Good, good, good! This is my student!”

Professor Pulan laughed heartily, though the corners of his weathered eyes—dry for decades—suddenly moistened.

“If my student is this remarkable, then as her teacher, I can’t afford to lose face.”

Professor Pulan raised his cane, slamming it fiercely downward.

Though he stood atop thin air, the cane emitted a resounding and authoritative metallic clang.

“Your teacher is here to save you, Belrena!”

Before his words had finished echoing, everything changed.

Deep beneath the grounds of Santa Maria College, colossal gears began to turn, interlocking and grinding. Massive mechanisms jolted into motion, inexhaustible magical energy was drawn from the earth’s veins, flowing through vein-like conduits into an enormous underground network beneath Santa Maria.

And then.

Around the perimeter of Santa Maria College, twelve structures gleaming with metallic brilliance burst from the earth, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and debris.

Towers.

Twelve pitch-black towers rose from the ground, and as they stood tall, the earth of Santa Maria quaked, forcing the already elevated foundations resolutely back into place.

This time, the hold was absolute—immovable and steady without a hint of oscillation.

Following this, ancient runes flared to life across the surface of the black towers. The potent magical energy extracted from the earth’s veins began assembling into layered magical frameworks, which stacked upon themselves to form a protective hemispherical barrier around all of Santa Maria.

In the sky above, the looming blue moon seemed finally to halt its descent.

Still, Professor Pulan knew this reprieve was temporary.

Even fully activating the second-tier grand ritual wouldn’t be enough to stop a dark god from recklessly descending in all its madness.

But that wasn’t the point.

After all, brief moments spent reuniting with one’s most cherished student deserved no unwanted interruptions.