"Senior, how could you possibly not be worthy of love?"

Looking at the handwriting recorded on the pages of the book, Moen felt another pang of pain in his chest.

Merely seeing these words was enough for Moen to conjure the image of that young girl walking alone on the dark path, enduring despair and suffering.

Yet, despite all that, the girl remained so gentle, so resilient.

Always smiling.

"I'll save you, senior. I promise I will."

Once again, Moen made a vow in his heart.

…

The number of experiments recorded in the booklet was relatively small, only around a dozen.

But every single one of them had ended in failure.

This was, of course, to be expected. If they had succeeded, there wouldn’t even be a need for Moen to wrestle with this problem now.

"However…"

Moen’s fingers traced over the words on the opening page.

"The materials mentioned here—what exactly are they?"

Combining this with the senior’s peculiar behavior in the past, Moen had a hunch.

But it still needed confirmation.

He continued flipping through the booklet.

Most of the following pages were blank, indicating the records had ended.

Although it seemed unlikely there was anything more to gain, Moen carefully flipped through every single page, just to be cautious.

It was at that moment, from the innermost layer of the book’s cover, something suddenly drifted out.

With quick reflexes, Moen caught the object, which was as brittle as a dried leaf.

It was a torn fragment of a page.

The edges were singed with black markings reminiscent of burning flames, and the paper bristled with a palpable ancient aura. The dense text adorning its surface was even less decipherable than the archaic scripts on the old tomes from the bookshelf.

"This is…"

Though Moen couldn’t comprehend the script, just looking at the fragment caused his heart to race uncontrollably.

His intuition told him—this was the thing he had been seeking.

…

…

"This is Aesop script."

Within the space of the Sea of Flowers that had manifested once again, Mela, who had been busy with some unknown tinkering, glanced at the fragment of the page she was handed. Her eyebrows arched as a curious expression immediately lit her face.

"To think there are still remnants of Aesop script in this world. Quite fascinating."

"Aesop? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that."

"Of course you haven’t. The nation of Aesop was destroyed two centuries ago."

"Destroyed?"

Not conquered, but… destroyed?

"Correct. Completely wiped out by the dark god. According to later observations, it should have been the doing of the Moon of Silence."

Mela’s tone didn’t shift in the slightest, as if this was a matter too trivial to even warrant care.

"Probably, someone in that country did something extraordinary, drawing the Moon’s attention, and led to its downfall. Hundreds of thousands of people perished, all becoming sustenance for the dark god."

"This… Didn’t the Life Church intervene?"

"How could they? Even the Life Church isn’t omnipotent enough to monitor the entire continent. Besides, incidents like this are far too common here—one pops up every few decades. For a small nation like Aesop, with a mere few hundred thousand inhabitants, facing the dark god’s threat was entirely hopeless.

Had they managed to hold out longer, they might have awaited the Life Church’s intervention. Unfortunately, due to their own weaknesses, their fate was such that they left behind not a trace worthy of inclusion in official history."

Mela shook her head, not sparing even a flicker of pity.

When one’s lifetime spans for far too long, events once deemed monumental become numbingly ordinary.

"I see…"

Moen couldn’t help but sigh at the thought of hundreds of thousands of lives extinguished without even rippling the vast river of history.

But this was not a moment for Moen to dwell on tragedies buried in the sands of time. What he cared about now were matters far more pressing.

"So… Teacher Mela, can you translate the script on this page?"

"Of course."

Mela cast a quick glance at Moen with her amber-like crimson eyes, her delicate nose wrinkling slightly in disdain.

"You really need to ask? Boy, are you doubting your teacher’s erudition?"

"Of course not. I wouldn’t dare," replied Moen, grinning obsequiously as he approached Mela and thoughtfully began massaging her shoulders. "I was just worried you might tire yourself out since you’ve been so busy."

"Heh, let’s pretend that’s really why."

Mela let out a cold chuckle, her face impassive. She halted her tinkering and began working on translating the torn fragment.

She worked quickly. Within a few minutes, every word from the torn page had transformed in Mela’s mind into comprehensible information.

But her expression gradually turned somber.

Seeing this, Moen grew tense.

"What is it?"

"It’s a method."

Mela squinted slightly, her tone unusually uncertain as she spoke.

"A method… to cure serpentification."

"Re... Really?"

Hearing this, Moen’s excitement almost made him jump on the spot.

"The serpentification can actually be cured? How? What does it say?"

"Tear of True Love," Mela replied as she slowly uttered the four words.

"Tear of True Love?"

In an instant, Moen thought of the necklace he had gifted his senior.

He also recalled the "materials" mentioned in the senior’s experiment notes.

As expected, just like how his senior had suddenly instructed him to collect Sari’s tears before, the so-called materials were likely the tears from individuals harboring feelings of love.

This fits perfectly with the term "Tear of True Love."

"And what else?" Moen asked expectantly, hoping for more clarity. After all, four simple words without any prerequisites seemed far too vague.

But after waiting for a long while, all he saw was Mela shaking her head.

"That’s it—just those four words."

"Four words?"

Moen gawked, waving the fragment with its dense, complex script in disbelief. "But it’s filled with so much text!"

What kind of translation reduces an entire page to only four words?

"Those words have been… distorted," Mela replied.

"What? Distorted? What does that mean?"

"It means they can’t be translated."

Snatching the fragment away, Mela snapped her fingers.

A crystal appeared behind her, shimmering with holy radiance that seemed to originate from nowhere. The light engulfed the torn page.

In an instant, the densely packed words vanished from the fragment, leaving only a sparse few scattered upon its surface.

"Some kind of power has altered these words, turning them into something akin to…"

Mela tilted her head, as if searching for the right comparison. "Something akin to the pixelated censorship teenagers often see in certain books or media. Utterly meaningless."

"That analogy…"

Moen’s mouth twitched, but a sudden realization made his face pale. "So, the method recorded on this fragment is incorrect?"

"No. On the contrary, this only proves its validity. Because if it were inaccurate, there’d have been no reason to obscure it."

After a moment of intense contemplation, Mela studied the fragment again. Stroking her smooth chin, her eyes sparkled with intrigue.

"Interesting. I didn’t expect someone to actually find a cure for serpentification and then naively attempt to pass it down. The calamities spread by the dark god aren’t easily dispelled. Perhaps Aesop’s discovery of this cure was precisely what drew the Moon’s attention and heralded their destruction."

"Then… can you decipher this power?" Moen asked, hope lacing his voice.

"No," Mela sighed, shaking her head.

"It’s clear that this power originates from the dark god. It’s a manifestation of subtlety and mental control—a domain in which the Moon particularly excels. The influence embedded in these words has become a sort of rule, one that no one can break—not even me."

"Not even you, teacher?"

Hearing this regretful answer, Moen felt a pang of disappointment.

But he quickly rallied himself.

At least this time, the existence of hope had been confirmed, hadn’t it?

And if hope exists, then there’s no reason to give up.

"But why would the dark god, capable of erasing this information, deliberately leave behind those four words?" Moen asked, unable to suppress his confusion.

"Heh… To dangle hope in front of you, only to watch you writhe in despair as you struggle in the labyrinth the god intentionally designed—like an insect chasing a light it can never reach in eternal darkness. Isn’t that just the kind of depravity fitting for the dark god?"

A mischievous grin formed on Mela’s lips. Tilting her head, her crimson eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if piercing through Moen’s every thought.

"Oh my, no wonder you seem so off. I see—another fool willing to tread into the labyrinth and suffer its agonies."

"Then just take me as a fool," Moen said with a wry smile.

If he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t have ended up in this predicament to begin with.

"In that case, I’ll offer my foolish disciple a bit of guidance."

Mela sighed in resignation. "After all, I am still the teacher of a fool, am I not?"

"Guidance?"

Moen’s eyes lit up. He was so moved he wanted to throw himself at her and cling to her slender, fair legs.

In crucial moments, a master was truly dependable.

"Well, it’s less ‘guidance’ and more of a personal conjecture," Mela clarified.

Placing her hands behind her back, she turned to gaze into the distance. Her petite figure somehow seemed monumental in Moen’s eyes.

At that moment, Moen heard a great rumble. The enormous gears concealed beneath the Sea of Flowers began turning once again. A massive mechanical structure rose from the ground, enshrouding the illusory sky and earth.

It was as if… it had eclipsed something.

"'Tear of Ture Love' seems like a term that covers an incredibly broad range. Without prerequisites, it could refer to a potion, a spell, even a gemstone—like a necklace."

"I see…"

"But I lean toward a simpler answer," Mela continued. "I think it’s literal—it’s referring to the tears themselves."

"Tears themselves?"

"Yes. Because when it comes to serpentification, while there are changes in physical form and appearance, the root problem lies in the erosion of the mind. To reverse that kind of mental corruption, I don’t believe it would involve an inanimate object. It’s more likely to be something born from intense, genuine emotions."

"So, that means…"

Moen’s eyes lit up.

Could his senior’s past experiments have been on the right track?

She simply hadn’t found someone with 'genuine love,' which had caused the failures.

"But—"

Mela glanced at Moen, her tone shifting. "I don’t think it’s that straightforward."

"This doesn't mean the answer is wrong, it's just that..."

Ms. Mela reached out her hand, grasping at the air, as if trying to catch something. Yet, her palm remained empty.

"Some glaringly obvious, highly significant condition—or factor—is right in front of us. But it's as if a spell of misdirection has been cast, and even I failed to notice it."