The tide of corpses surged.

These bodies, originally cast into the Blood Pool as sacrifices to the dark god, were drained of their essence and blood, yet still denied peaceful rest. Even their final utility was extracted. Skeletal remains, animated by the will of the Moon of Silence, became these living corpses that linger on the edge of life and death, charging fearlessly toward Moen.

Weak.

That was Moen’s first impression upon encountering these creatures. They resembled the zombies from TV shows in his previous life—slow-moving, frail, and utterly uncoordinated.

The only real challenge they posed was their staggering numbers… and their wails.

"Save me..."

"Please, save me..."

"I beg you... save me..."

Under the dark humor of the dark god, the corpses retained a faint trace of consciousness. In relentless torment, their grotesque faces streamed with bloody tears, instinctively seeking salvation from the sole living being present.

"I’ll help you… find true release."

Moen sighed softly with pity. Then, he decapitated the living corpse blocking his path.

These weak creatures—so feeble that even an average person might escape their clutches—could certainly not impede Moen. He plunged into the thickest part of the corpse swarm, his blade dancing in a dazzling flurry of light, slicing through necks one after another.

Under the sanctified light unleashed by Elizabeth, even the dark god’s power could not reanimate these corpses once decapitated, leading to their ultimate end.

Step by step, Moen moved forward, drawing closer to the altar.

Though many, the living corpses were not infinite in number. As Moen’s increasingly sharp blade cut them down like wheat in a harvest, they fell in droves.

But then, suddenly, Moen felt pressure for the first time.

A particular living corpse before him seemed to have grown exponentially stronger. As it lunged forward, even Moen's blade trembled slightly against the impact.

Startled, Moen eyed the creature's body.

Beneath its bark-like, wrinkled skin, several distorted human faces bulged outward, frozen in pained expressions and emitting silent screams.

Moen’s heart chilled. He glanced around.

It was then he noticed a faint luminescence flickering among the headless corpses he'd already dispatched. The lights were forcibly absorbed into the surviving bodies of the walking dead.

That was...

Souls.

The remnants of souls the dark god had drained of their essence, leaving only fragments behind.

Even though the divine light purified the dead, rendering their bodies unusable, the dark god could still recycle these fragmented souls.

Excess souls were stuffed into the dwindling corpses, transforming them into grotesque abominations—monstrous amalgamations of dozens of souls trapped within a single body, wailing in collective agony.

Truly efficient and waste-free.

Moen let out an incredulous laugh, casting a glance at the moon.

"Shall I teach you to say, 'How dare you?'"

The moon, naturally, did not respond.

Moen channeled his fury toward the Moon of Silence into his blade. His Shadow Step and Thunder techniques, now honed to their highest level through countless battles, alternated seamlessly.

At the same time, the alchemical core on his back began to sear with heat.

Time dilation: tenfold!

Everything in his vision slowed to a crawl. Without hesitation, Moen methodically exterminated the twisted, monstrous living corpses that had begun to take shape.

Their numbers dwindled, yet Moen's burden grew heavier.

The accumulation of fragmented souls pushed the remaining corpses beyond what could be reasonably termed "living corpses." Their grotesque, misshapen forms no longer resembled their earlier state. Endless torment had hardened into overwhelming hatred!

With deafening roars, these abominations lunged at Moen, distorted limbs flailing with such force that they easily left craters in the stone floor.

Each of these creatures had been forcibly elevated to a Tier 3 threat. Facing their onslaught, even a fully-empowered Banshee might fall.

And Moen, after continuous combat, was already feeling profound exhaustion. Facing these monstrosities from the depths of hell, he could not suppress the instinctual urge to flee.

But.

Through the gaps between the attacking monsters, his eyes caught sight of the girl beneath the moonlight, her brows furrowed slightly.

Senior, are you having a nightmare?

Thump—

In that moment, a resonant sound echoed in Moen’s ears.

Like the frantic pulse of a heart... or the tolling of a bell!

Tenfold.

Twentyfold.

Thirtyfold.

The alchemical core, meticulously crafted by archmagician Mela Dormir, surged to maximum capacity, mercilessly extracting every last drop of Moen's magical reserves.

Until.

...Sixtyfold!

Moen, disregarding Mela’s prior warnings, pushed Time Dilation to its absolute limit.

And then.

Amidst a world that seemed frozen in slow motion, Moen urged his body onward.

Faster. Faster!

In a mere instant.

The monsters’ movements were suspended.

They hesitated, lowering their heads. A glimmer of confusion flickered through their scattered consciousness.

A slash appeared on one of the abominations.

A second.

A third.

...

Countless slashes crisscrossed the bodies of the monsters, as though each had been struck hundreds, even thousands of times simultaneously. The brilliance of the blade illuminated the area, so radiant it was almost blinding. Torrents of divine light surged forth, and the grotesque monsters didn’t even have time to wail as they met their end.

Unnoticed, Moen had moved behind the creatures, stepping onto the edge of the altar at last.

From above, droplets of blood trickled down.

But it wasn’t the blood of the monsters—it was Moen’s.

Just as Mela had warned, forcibly operating the alchemical core at such high levels of time dilation while pushing his actions to full speed had shattered his physical limits.

And this kind of breakthrough brought no benefit.

As Moen halted, streams of blood sprayed from his pores and torn flesh, forming a fine red mist.

Yet this time, Moen did not collapse.

Standing at the altar’s edge, he swayed slightly. Flame glimmered in his eyes, tirelessly repairing his internal injuries.

Then, with determination and force, he stepped forward toward the girl.

Buzz—

An oppressive, invisible weight bore down instantly, its bone-chilling cold making it feel as though Moen was submerged deep under the sea.

The omnipotent presence of the Moon of Silence finally descended, casting its aloof gaze upon him!

The suffocating sightline made Moen feel minuscule, filling him with an instinctive urge to kneel.

So, you’re finally showing your hand, huh?

Moen's lips curled into a strained smile.

Without hesitation, he took another step forward.

Crack.

He heard the sound of his own bones breaking.

The overwhelming pressure crushed down like a vast black tide, drowning him, preventing even the slightest progress.

Even standing upright became a struggle; he was forced to crouch low.

Underfoot, his moonlit shadow seemed to come alive, writhing and snaking upward like demonic tendrils, threatening to swallow him.

Moen gritted his teeth.

Fwoosh.

A fiery crimson blaze erupted, burning those shadows to ash.

But… that was all.

The normally unstoppable scarlet flame was bound by some invisible force, flickering weakly around Moen like a candle in the wind, on the verge of being snuffed out at any moment.

This limitation was why Moen had refrained from using the flame to clear out lesser opponents earlier. Within the moonlight’s domain, scarlet fire faced inherent suppression, its power severely diminished.

Yet even so, Moen... continued forward.

One more step.

Cracks spread like spiderwebs across the ground beneath his feet, and the sound of his bones breaking and being immediately regenerated by flame rang out endlessly.

The excruciating pain caused cold sweat to pour down his face. With the colossal weight bearing down on him, he clenched his teeth, refusing to exhale the breath that would surely break his resolve.

In his ears, he thought he could hear faint, mocking laughter.

—What does it matter if you’ve overcome the lowly worms before this? You remain, still, nothing but an insect.

Moen could feel the disdain and ridicule imbued in the moon’s cold gaze. Even though he was now only a few meters from his senior, the Moon of Silence didn’t finish him off directly. Instead, it increased the pressure ever so slowly, savoring the sight of him dying in agony and despair.

Perhaps, given the dark god’s malicious amusement, the Moon of Silence might even spare Moen's life—just to have him witness Anna being fully transformed into its vessel.

Such was the unbridgeable gap between mortals and gods.

You could only serve as their toy, used to ease their boredom.

Despair threatened to take hold.

But senior is right in front of me. How could I give up now?

Moen staggered forward, preparing once more to challenge this insurmountable divine barrier.

...

**[Sigh…]**

At that moment, Moen heard a familiar sigh.

The Black Book.

A spark lit in Moen’s bleary eyes. After coughing up a mouthful of clotted blood, his consciousness dove inward.

"So, you couldn’t just sit back, could you?"

**[I can’t help you much.]**

Words etched themselves across the Black Book’s pages as they turned.

Moen raised an eyebrow. Then why are you even here…?

**[But.]**

The pages continued flipping.

**[You can insult it.]**

"Insult... it?"

Moen blinked, momentarily stunned. From those words alone, it was clear that “it” referred to the Moon of Silence.

But to insult a god like this in such circumstances—wasn’t he just asking to speed up his own death? Or wishing for a quicker demise?

"I already cursed at it earlier. Didn’t seem to do much," Moen muttered, recalling his prior sarcasm.

**[Not just insult.]**

The Black Book flipped again.

**[You need to enrage it.]**

"Enrage it?"

A thought stirred in Moen's mind.

He didn’t understand the Black Book’s intent, but...

"That’s something I’m very good at."

...

Moen abruptly halted his advance.

Beneath the moon’s increasingly suffocating pressure, he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position on the ground, then painstakingly rolled over.

Now, he faced directly upward at the massive blue moon, which dominated his entire field of vision.

The moonlight cascaded down like drifting silk. He had to admit—it truly was beautiful.

For the first time, Moen studied this renowned dark god so closely.

In appearance alone, it was indistinguishable from an ordinary moon. Only slightly larger. Slightly bluer.

But Moen knew that this wasn’t the god’s true form. Even this luminous moon was likely just a projection of the deity’s descent here.

Yet merely this projection had forced Moen to exhaust all his capabilities, driving him to the brink of despair.

"Strange how, no matter what I do, I always end up face-to-face with you damned dark gods," Moen said, his lips curling into a wry smile.

"So, can you just go straight to hell, you bastard Dark God?"

"Coward?"

"Heh, the followers of *that one* have been eerily silent from the start, clearly amassing their power. Meanwhile, you, afraid of divine war, not only toss your projections everywhere but even abandon your divine form and celestial rank, opting for descent to escape that one. Others say the Love God is the disgrace of the Dark Gods, but in my opinion, you're even more embarrassing."

"Such a coward. Why not crawl back into your mommy's arms and suck that *milk*?"

"..."

The moonlight was cold and still. There was no movement.

Only the gradually intensifying pressure made Moen's face twist slightly.

"Looks like this won’t work."

After all, this is the Dark God.

To Him, Moen’s words were probably akin to the whispers of an ant — utterly irrelevant.

Time for the big guns.

"【Prayer】"

The world instantly fell silent, the only sound being Moen's solemn prayer.

"【With my secret, I beseech the great Moon of Silence to grant me a moment of listening.】"

Moen could feel the cold, indifferent gaze upon her deepen, as though this bizarre invocation had genuinely piqued the interest of the Dark God, who now seemed to be listening.

Seeing this, the corners of Moen’s lips suddenly curled into a mad grin.

This was truly gambling with her life.

No, from the moment he stepped into this place, he’d been gambling with his life.

Since that’s the case, what’s there to fear?

"My secret is..."

Staring at the moon, Moen spoke slowly, word by word:

"The origin behind the King of Wither's reckless assault upon the Moon of Silence, the one who informed the King of Wither of the Moon of Silence’s weakness...

——is me."

...

In an instant.

The blue moon quaked!

Moen’s eyes stung sharply.

From the massive, radiant moon, a boundless tide of darkness suddenly burst forth, rapidly engulfing its entirety.

Then, within the tide, countless crimson pupils opened abruptly, casting vicious gazes toward Moen.

As the Dark God, Moon of Silence could naturally discern the truth of Moen's words.

How dare you?!

How dare a tiny ant like you?!

In Moen’s mind, death warnings buzzed incessantly, like a hive of furious bees.

The void suddenly twisted. Unlike the gentle pressure before, this time it was an annihilating blow, embodying the unbridled madness and rage of a Dark God, dropping down without mercy!

Whoosh—

By Moen’s ears came the sound of pages turning, as a ghostly light surged upward to meet the annihilating strike head-on.

The clash was like two ripples touching—no terrifying shockwaves erupted, yet countless bubbles seemed to implode, tearing space into dark fissures. The two forces collided, obliterated each other, and ultimately dissipated into the void.

The Black Book quivered slightly, as if struck heavily, its ghostly luminescence dimming. Then, it transformed into a streak of light and retreated deep into Moen's consciousness.

"Wait."

Moen’s mouth twitched at this sight.

"You just blocked one attack, and now you're out of commission. But this is clearly just *a regular strike* from the Moon of Silence..."

Though Moen didn’t finish his sentence, the destructive waves from the sinister blue moon were unmistakably coalescing, preparing for descent.

It was over.

Moen's face turned pale. Facing the wrath of a Dark God, even with the most advanced cheats, there was simply no chance of turning the tables now.

All he could do was await death...

...

*Ding—*

But at that moment, amidst the silent moonlit void, Moen heard a delicate chime.

So clear.

Her eyes widened abruptly, darting toward the direction of the sound.

Her senior.

No wait—more accurately, her senior’s chest.

A teardrop-shaped gemstone, one Moen knew all too well, now floated slowly, emanating radiant light.

"That’s…"

Tear of True Love.

At that moment, the gemstone known as Tear of True Lover trembled lightly, and phantoms began to appear, brushing past Moen’s vision.

These were countless shadowy figures. From their ancient clothing, one could infer they didn’t belong to this era. Slowly, amidst the glowing flames, they gazed at something.

They gazed at a young girl—a girl struggling painfully on the stake of a pyre.

The girl’s serpent-tail twisted, making her look like a monster.

The figure closest to her, a shadow of a boy, suddenly shed tears.

He turned his head, speaking to Moen.

Moen couldn’t understand his words. They were ancient and guttural, unlike any language she knew.

The boy sighed helplessly, shaking his head, and pointed toward Anna.

Moen suddenly staggered, as if something had pushed him, crossing the remaining few meters in an instant to arrive by Anna's side.

The boy smiled at this sight.

He abruptly lifted his gaze.

Countless phantoms simultaneously turned their heads skyward.

Together, they stared at the eerie blue moon with bone-deep hatred.

"Aesop..."

These two words echoed in Moen’s mind.

This was the minor, obscure country mentioned by Mela during class—the one supposedly destroyed by the Moon of Silence for uncovering a potential cure for serpentification.

"Turns out that’s how it was?"

Linking the gemstone’s name, True Love's Tear, with her senior’s previous revelations about how it suppressed serpentification, Moen had all the pieces to understand.

Two hundred years ago, the nation obliterated by the Dark God left behind more than just a treatment method for serpentification.

They also left behind a seed—a seed of vengeance.

And now, precisely when Moen had drawn the Moon of Silence’s full attention, causing it to momentarily abandon Anna’s corrosion and suppression—this seed seized its chance and sprouted.

Transforming into...a backstab from two centuries ago!

Thus, countless phantoms charged forward with hatred, merging into streaks of light aimed at the blue moon!

The Moon of Silence silently roared, its crimson pupils ferocious yet ever cold.

What could mere remnants of souls possibly do to it?

But the Moon of Silence, no matter how godlike, clearly hadn’t anticipated this.

The beams of light did not strike Him.

Instead...

They formed a barrier.

A wall of light capable of completely isolating the Moon of Silence’s power and influence.

Yet even such a barrier, fabricated from the hatred of tens of thousands, would surely crumble within moments under the power of the Dark God.

One moment would suffice.

"I've told you. When bitten by bugs, the pain lingers!"

Moen erupted into manic laughter, a fiery light blazing from within his body.

The crimson flames, previously suppressed by the Moon of Silence, were no longer restrained. They surged outward, pouring from her like torrential waves, illuminating the dark expanse void of moonlight.

Radiant enough to resemble a beacon.

A beacon capable of signaling a certain existence within the void...

"So, it’s your cue now."

"King of Wither!!!"