The flames of King of Wither…

Moen instinctively looked at his wrist.

Although under normal circumstances no discernible anomalies could be seen. But when flames flickered in his pupils, the subtle traces resembling fingerprints extending from his sleeve became clearly visible.

These traces were the mark left on him by King of Wither.

Though the power he wielded was no longer simply bestowed, but rather "god's favor" obtained in exchange for vital intelligence through the Black Book, Moen still harbored deep misgivings about it.

After all, it was the power of a dark god.

Yet he couldn’t deny the sheer strength of that favor.

He could see the evidence of it clearly in Ann and Celicia. If he desired to gain power as quickly as possible, this was undoubtedly the shortest path.

“Actually, the reason I started studying magic at first was to separate myself from this power,” Moen said with a bitter smile.

“But who’d have thought I’d end up embracing it?”

“Haven’t I already told you? Power itself is neither good nor evil; what matters is the one who wields it. Even the power of a dark god is no exception to this.”

Mela spoke as she gently curled her finger. A delicate flower floated into her palm.

She lightly stroked the flower, allowing it to bloom more vibrantly, and then, without hesitation, crushed it in her hand.

“So, if one day you’re no longer content with this power and choose to beg King of Wither for more...”

In that instant, a chill descended upon him.

Moen’s vision was suddenly stained red with blood. The countless flowers, once blooming uncontrollably, now seemed to transform into blood-stained, razor-sharp blades.

Mela’s calm gaze met his, utterly expressionless, yet Moen felt a deafening alarm signal of impending doom surging within him.

"I will kill you in person."

The bloody vision vanished, replaced once again by the Sea of Flowers, swaying beautifully in the breeze.

As if it had all been an illusion.

But the cold, sweat-soaked fabric clinging to his back reminded Moen that if he truly succumbed to King of Wither’s call, Mela would unhesitatingly cut down her own newly accepted disciple.

“I won’t.”

Moen wiped the sweat from his brow and said seriously:

“I already have Mela as my teacher, don’t I?"

“……”

Mela was momentarily stunned. Then she chuckled softly and said, “Looks like the rumors aren’t all baseless after all?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Now, about weapons… Do you have any questions? Time is tight, so ask quickly.”

“Questions?”

Moen twirled the short blades in his hands, feeling as though these new weapons were helping to elevate his long-neglected dagger combat skills to a new level.

“Not much, actually. Just wondering if there’s anything I should know about using them regularly. Like how often I should maintain them or something?”

“Living weapons generally have self-repairing and self-cleaning abilities, so you don’t need to worry about that. As for things to watch out for…”

Mela thought casually for a moment before saying:

“Well, just don’t go brandishing them in front of the folks at Life Church. Aside from that, you should be fine.”

“Oh, alright then. I definitely won’t... Wait, no. Hold on.”

Moen’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing something.

“What do you mean by ‘don’t go brandishing them in front of Life Church’? Is there something about these weapons that they can’t see?”

Moen began to panic. After all, this was Life Church. Provoking them would definitely lead to major trouble.

“It’s nothing much,” Mela said casually, shrugging her shoulders.

“The materials for these blades just happen to come from Life Church’s holy swords. Naturally, it wouldn’t sit well with that bunch of uptight believers if they saw them.”

“Oh, so they’re made from melted-down holy swords... That doesn’t sound like a big dea— Wait, what?!”

Moen yelled in alarm, his expression twisted in terror:

“Which holy sword? You’re not seriously going to tell me it’s one of Life Church’s Five Holy Swords, are you?”

“Five? I thought there were supposed to be seven?”

Mela looked puzzled.

“Have they lost two swords while I was sleeping? Oh well, it doesn’t matter. After all, there are only four left now, aren’t there?”

“So it really is one of the Sacred Swords?!”

Moen’s hand trembled as he clutched the blades. "Why... Why would you do such a thing? Couldn’t you have just used them as they were?”

After all, almost every man harbors a dream to wield a Holy Sword and vanquish evil as a heroic warrior. If Moen had the chance to wield a Holy Sword, he might even consider reviving his old passion for swordsmanship.

But instead, Mela apparently decided to melt it down into blades?

If this ever got out, while Mela could possibly get away unscathed as a top-tier powerhouse, Moen would almost certainly be tied to a cross and burned alive by Life Church zealots!

“Well, no choice. The Holy Sword had the Church’s marks embedded in it, which would’ve been a pain to remove. So, I figured I’d just melt them down completely—simple, right?”

Mela looked entirely unperturbed, like someone who casually destroyed a vault because the lock was too difficult to pick.

“……”

“Well, relax, it’s not as bad as you think.”

Noting Moen’s dumbfounded expression, Mela tried to reassure him:

“Since I’ve refined them to this extent, unless you run into a high-ranking archbishop, it’s unlikely anyone would notice.”

“...And what if I really am that unlucky?”

If there was one thing Moen had absolute confidence in, it was his uncanny ability to wind up in misfortune. For all he knew, the moment he took his weapons out, he might accidentally stumble upon a Life Church archbishop retreat or something.

“Well, in that case…”

Mela pondered for a moment.

“You could try resisting with all your might.”

“Oh? You mean you’ve got some kind of contingency plan?” Moen’s eyes lit up with hope.

“No.”

Mela replied seriously:

“It would just be a more dignified way to die.”

“……”

……

……

“Alright, enough cheerful chit-chat. Let’s get to business, shall we?"

Mela stretched and shook off her earlier casual demeanor, her face now filled with a solemn air. She looked at Moen and asked:

“Do you understand the essence of gods?”

“The essence of gods?”

Startled, Moen hadn’t expected Mela to suddenly bring up such a profound topic.

But…

“Gods… aren’t they just gods?”

Moen racked his brain for any mention in the original novel but found that its descriptions of gods were rather vague.

That realization left him frustrated.

Truly, you shouldn’t read novels halfway—at least finish the whole thing. Otherwise, you might find yourself transported into its world without knowing even its most critical settings.

“The so-called gods are…”

Mela began, but then suddenly stopped, knocking on her own head and sticking out her tongue.

“Oh, oops! I almost forgot—I’m one of the seven who signed the Primeval Silence Covenant. I’m forbidden from revealing that kind of information.”

“What?”

Dumbfounded, Moen glared at the mischievous white-haired elder lolicon, now acting like a playful young girl, and said indignantly:

“Mela! Do you know what kinds of people frustrate me the most?”

“Hmm?”

“First—those who stop midway when they speak. Second…”

“Second?” Mela tilted her head expectantly.

“…”

“……”

……

“Back to the point.”

Mela withdrew her tiny fist without expression and glanced at Moen, now writhing on the ground clutching his stomach like some insect.

She asked,

“Since stepping into this place, have you noticed any differences from before?”

“Differences?”

Despite his lingering pain from Mela’s so-called ‘petal fist,’ Moen raised his head uneasily and looked around.

The sky still shone its serene and illusory blue, accompanied by the same refreshing breeze. If there was a difference…

“The flowers,” Moen said.

“The colors of the flowers are different now compared to when I first came here.”

When he had first entered this place, the Sea of Flowers bloomed with a variety of colors. But now, his view was filled with an unbroken expanse of pure white blooms.

“That’s correct—the flowers are different.”

Mela nodded approval at Moen’s keen observation, then asked:

“Do you know why?”

“Because…”

Moen hesitated for a moment.

“The flowers can change color?”

“An interesting idea, but that’s not why. The flowers are different because they truly are different.”

“What do you mean?” Moen felt increasingly lost in Mela’s cryptic phrasing.

Rather than answer, Mela merely picked up her watering can and sprinkled water over the flowers again.

The blossoms drank in the moisture, growing more vibrant and lush. Even their stems seemed to stretch taller in confidence.

No, it wasn’t just “seeming.”

Under Moen’s startled gaze, the blooms around Mela visibly blossomed, unfurled, and underwent moments of brief brilliance—only to wilt just as rapidly.

The Sea of Flowers faded, leaving behind barren soil.

Then, from that naked black earth, tender sprouts emerged swiftly.

They budded, branched, and leafed out with breathtaking speed, flowers blossoming anew.

A sea of vibrant red now spread across Moen’s vision.

And then, once again, they wilted.

“What a pity… Still can’t grow those pink ones I wanted.”

Mela sighed and looked back toward Moen.

“Have you figured anything out yet?”

“This is…”

Moen was still stunned by the display. But having confronted dark gods head-on in the past, he quickly recovered.

“Time?”

“Well done—this is the power of time.”

Mela explained:

“Though I can’t disclose what gods truly are, I can tell you this—among the many dominions held by the deities, only two are conspicuously absent: time and space.

In other words, these two laws… have no master.”

“No master?!”

Moen’s eyes widened in disbelief.

From Mela’s tone, it sounded as if these two laws, beyond even the gods’ reach, could somehow be controlled.

“So—pay close attention now, my dear disciple.

Feast your eyes upon the culmination of your teacher’s life's work.”

Mela spread her arms wide, as if summoning something to embrace her, her long white hair stirring even though there was no breeze.

The ground began to tremble, as if reflecting the upheavals of era upon era. The black soil at their feet dissolved, revealing a colossal, ominous mechanism lurking beneath.

Massive gears—counted in tens of thousands—meshed and interlocked, each clash igniting dazzling sparks.

Millions of intricate mechanical structures moved in flawless synchrony, driven by overwhelming magical energy.

It was as if an enormous planet composed entirely of machinery and gears had suddenly emerged beneath them.

In that moment, Moen couldn’t help but shiver at his own insignificant smallness, even forgetting how to breathe.

It was as if, before this ferocious yet beautiful ultimate creation, all things in existence, even rules themselves... could be rewritten!

"Look!"

Standing at the very center of everything, the white-haired lolicon exclaimed fervently.

Behind her, the faint outline of a colossal clock emerged, its hands shifting as they counted the passage of an infinite stretch of time.

"This is the pinnacle of alchemy and magic.

The union of idealism and materialism.

A work born from millennia of painstaking effort and dedication.

The true core of the Grand Ritual.

The supreme creation that even gods tremble before.

The artificial authority.

——Clock of Eternity."