As Moen's roar echoed, the world fell abruptly silent.

It was as if nothing had happened.

However—

Upon that ghostly blue moon, amidst countless blood-red and hideous eyes, a trace of deeply human-like fear suddenly emerged.

The moon did not fear mere fragments of souls or insignificant ants.

What it feared was…

Boom—

The silence was shattered, pierced by a roar like the end of the world itself!

From beyond the barriers of this world came an infinite force of boundless majesty, guided by the beacon’s light, descending here in an instant!

The Void quaked!

At the edge of Moen’s gaze, behind that blue moon, the space began to shatter, fragment by fragment, into countless jagged, inky-black cracks.

And then, from those fissures, came a blinding radiance, surging forth.

It was as if a grand and resplendent sun had risen on the far side of the rift, its brilliance utterly blinding, its imposing glory surpassing Moen’s small beacon by a thousandfold, ten thousandfold!

Boom—

The Void quaked once more.

It was like an iron fist hammering mercilessly on a fragile door.

More light poured into this space. Under this indescribable light and heat, the dark mist of the Moon churned violently, as if boiling, but was forcibly torn apart into several gaps under immense power!

Drawing on his adapted tolerance for the flame, Moen finally managed to open his eyes within this endless blaze. And then, he saw it clearly.

Behind those shattered seams in space, oppressed by an overwhelming force, was a single colossal and grotesque eye—larger than all the combined crimson eyes of the Moon of Silence. And it looked down at this place with a burning, fervent gaze full of anticipation.

It was the sight of a long-starved beast finally finding its long-coveted, enticing prey.

Dark god, King of Wither, has descended!

…

Crack. Crack.

Before Moen could greet this old acquaintance of his, the sound of shattering glass echoed.

One after another, withered, charred hands—like those burned to cinders by an intense fire—slowly reached out from the other side of the spatial fissures.

Like the tentacles of a predatory sea anemone, those hands moved rhythmically, opening and closing in steady cycles, grasping toward the ghostly blue moon.

Roar—

The moon let out a silent howl.

The countless crimson eyes spun wildly, and its moonlight, icy and eerie, sought desperately to halt the approach of those charred hands.

Though no sound actually reached Moen’s ears, at that moment, he felt as if his very soul were being ripped apart by the invisible shockwaves.

Fortunately, the flames within him surged ever higher the moment the King of Wither appeared, as if fueled by some newfound energy. They flared up more fiercely, helping him counteract much of the oppressive effect.

Even so, Moen couldn’t help but grimace, raising a defiant middle finger to the Moon.

“Go kick its ass, King of Wither!”

【Hmph.】

Moen faintly heard a cold snort.

Then, on those withered, scorched hands, crimson flames began to ignite.

Although these flames bore a resemblance to his own, Moen could keenly sense that the crimson fire on those hands was exponentially more terrifying.

As those flames blazed, it was as if boiling oil had been poured onto cold water. The ghostly blue moonlight trembled violently, and the charred, skinny hands came ever closer to the moon’s core.

There was no doubt; the King of Wither held the absolute upper hand.

Although the Moon of Silence here was merely a projection, the entity descending as the King of Wither clearly was not the true self either.

A dark god’s true form cannot descend upon the mortal plane—that is an unchangeable rule. Otherwise, the Moon of Silence would never have been forced into sacrificing its divinity and body for a forced descent.

However, even as mere projections, the King of Wither had been accumulating power all this while. Even its cultists had grown dormant during this time, contributing fully to this massive undertaking.

In contrast, the Moon of Silence had been recklessly expending its strength in pursuit of its plans, squandering an untold amount of power. Given such a disparity, there was no way the Moon of Silence—even as a being of equivalent status—could be a match for the King of Wither.

Now, as if to confirm Moen’s thoughts, countless withered hands had already grasped the blue moon itself, steadily dragging it toward the other side of the spatial rift.

With the addition of that massive, salivating eye on the other side of the cracks, Moen could almost visualize a burly man gleefully pulling a tiny blue-haired lolicon out of her hiding place.

Come on, come play with Uncle…

For some reason, the mental image was oddly comedic.

Moen twitched his lips, quickly suppressing the strange thought. Yet he remained fully alert, knowing all too well that the moon wouldn’t give in so easily.

Sure enough, as if driven to desperation by the King of Wither’s invasive “hand play” (wait, no, its withered hands), the Moon of Silence suddenly flared with a surge of radiant lunar energy. Its glowing form trembled violently, briefly slipping free from the grip.

Then, with that fierce energy coalescing, it launched a powerful attack—toward Moen.

Moen’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as his death sense blared a shrill warning in his mind.

He could never have expected, in this moment when the Moon of Silence stood on the brink of being dragged into annihilation by the King of Wither, that its retaliation would be aimed at him.

What grudge? What hatred?

Was it just because he had accidentally allowed the Black Book to expose its weakness to the King, thereby setting it on the path toward being hunted down?

Seriously?

It wasn’t even my fault! Go blame the God of Love or something!

Moen felt his insides churn with frustration while his face turned utterly pale. Yet he didn’t dare to give up.

Under the King’s restraint, there was no way the Moon could wield its full divine might. This strike carried only a fraction of its power. If he gave it his all, perhaps there was still a slim chance of survival!

Gritting his teeth, Moen forced the crimson flames within him to burn even fiercer.

One moment—he just needed to hold on for one moment longer.

The King of Wither would no doubt seize this opening to deliver the Moon of Silence a devastating blow!

However, just as Moen steeled every nerve, ready to stake it all, the dark god-infused tendril of moonlight—an insubstantial silver mist—abruptly swerved midair.

It did not aim at Moen.

Instead, the attack veered toward… Anna.

The target of the Moon was his senior, Anna!

Moen’s expression twisted ferociously. His anger surged as realization dawned—this damn Moon had learned his trick of misdirection in such a short span and was already using it against him!

The killing intent of the Moon of Silence was so tangible, even his death premonition had been fooled, overlooking this eventuality.

Damn it all!

Without hesitation, Moen spun around and lunged toward Anna.

Thanks to the earlier illusionary guidance of Aesop, Anna was now right beside him.

But the mere half-meter gap felt like an unbridgeable chasm to the current Moen.

The beam of moonlight descended, wrapping Anna in its ghostly glow and lifting her up once more.

Moen’s eyes widened, his pupils burning crimson. Flames spiraled upward as he readied his body for what seemed like pure suicide—bracing himself to collide directly with the icy, destructive lunar light enveloping Anna.

Having come this far, there’s absolutely no chance I’m letting you take Senior away again!!

Within the storm of thoughts in his mind, Moen roared silently, squeezing his eyes shut, prepared to endure whatever pain—or death—was about to come next.

But… that anticipated despair never arrived.

In the fleeting instant when all seemed lost, as if cutting through the chaos of noise in his psyche, Moen caught the faint sound of something slicing through the air.

It was sharp. Piercing.

Huh?

Caught off guard, Moen found himself still clutching Anna’s now oddly stiff body in his arms.

He blinked, then lifted his head.

And he saw it.

Embedded in the very center of that giant blue moon loomed a single, seemingly unremarkable… arrow.

The arrow appeared as pristine as crystal, shimmering brilliantly under the moon’s light—a work of absolute craftsmanship.

Yet as it punctured the moon’s very core, crimson cracks resembling blood veins spiderwebbed outward from the arrow’s tip, spreading instantly across the lunar surface.

It resembled… poison.

A deadly poison imbued with the absolute intent to kill.

Under its influence, the eerie moonlight pouring down began to corrode, disintegrating piece by piece.

That’s… the Origin Stone!

The countless crimson eyes of the Moon of Silence swiveled violently, all staring in unison toward the rift torn apart by the King of Wither’s force within the dark lunar mist.

Through the crack was revealed an old man, his body covered in age spots, armed with a bow. Upon his head rested a crown aglow with radiant majesty.

Standing outside the mist’s edge, wielding the near-divine power of The Crowned, he had pierced through layers of solar and lunar energy to deliver that unerring, critical strike.

“How does it feel, my dear moon?”

The elder, his muddled eyes gazing through the rift, smiled faintly.

“For an old man like me, half a step in the grave, this arrow carries every bit of my suppressed anger and resentment. Enough for you, isn’t it?”