Moen opened his eyes.
In the still warm water of the pool, enhanced by its special materials, he examined the state of his body internally and couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
Both his injuries and the depletion within his body were nearly healed.
The replenished magic and combat energy flowed through him, bringing back a long-lost sense of strength.
After pushing himself to the brink, draining every last ounce from his body, the ample external resources had reinvigorated every inch of his flesh, restoring vitality from deep within.
Unconsciously, this had also subtly elevated his physical resilience as well as his cultivation level.
Particularly noticeable was his magic power. Through the constant consumption and recharging cycle of his alchemical core, the magic that had previously only sufficed for executing a few Lighting Spells had now grown to at least twice its original capacity.
Unfortunately, the maximum capacity for magic largely depends on innate talent. While training can gradually unlock that innate potential, the magical talent of the Campbell family…
Moen figured that in future battles, he ought to prepare more items that could replenish his magic.
“To freely extract magic from the air, I’ll need to reach the third-level Arcane Ritual. I still have a long road ahead.”
Moen sighed softly and resumed sorting through the results of this experience.
In fact, there wasn’t much to harvest. After all, he wasn’t some predestined protagonist who could significantly level up with every major event he encountered.
Truth be told, this ordeal hadn’t earned him anything tangible; instead, it cost him several pricey items.
But it was worth it.
Because no treasure could ever compare to a single strand of his senior’s hair, right?
...
“Well, it wasn’t completely fruitless…”
Moen’s consciousness sank deeper.
In the pitch-black void, the Black Book floated quietly.
Moen could distinctly feel its state of weakness.
The direct clash with the projection of Moon of Silence had evidently drained it heavily.
But then Moen noticed the faint, ghostly glow surrounding its cover, which seemed to have grown more intense.
The feeling it exuded was akin to someone getting hit so hard their vision blurred, yet immediately following that with a hearty meal.
A peculiar mix of pain and contentment—it was utterly contradictory.
Moen didn’t disturb its combination of agony and bliss with conversation. Instead, with a gentle flick of consciousness, the book’s pages began to turn, displaying earlier records.
Within those records, the name of the banshee had turned red, signifying...
A new character up for choice!
Moen reached out and lightly touched the crimson text. In an instant, the surroundings drastically transformed.
Heavy rain poured down incessantly.
Cold droplets struck Moen’s body, bringing an icy sting. The shadowed streets were darkly menacing, as though ghosts lurked in every corner.
“It can even fully simulate that moment’s environment now?”
Under the heavy rain, Moen felt as though time had reversed.
And there, standing in silent stillness, was a familiar yet loathsome alluring figure, her crescent-shaped blade in hand.
Her eyes held no emotion whatsoever.
“Well then, let’s see how this goes,” Moen muttered.
Unbeknownst to him, he was already gripping a gleaming white dagger. Excitement danced across his face.
The second round against the banshee began!
...
“So, I lost again, huh?”
Moen opened his eyes and sighed regretfully.
Stripped of the fear and caution otherwise inherent to battle, the banshee—a mere record—had exerted immense pressure on him through her formidable power at the peak of the third tier and her terrifying physical abilities bolstered by dark god blessings.
Within these simulations, he naturally couldn’t use the Clock of Eternity either.
A clean defeat.
But truthfully, there wasn’t much to regret.
A weaker opponent wouldn’t hold any meaning for re-enactments like these, right?
“It’s just that I need to address my lack of variety in techniques.”
Otherwise, for someone like him—the son of a duke, the fiancé of a princess, the protégé of Mela, and the Santa Maria College record-holder for finishing the Magic Fundamentals course in one month—it felt humiliating to fight with nothing but the same simplistic set of moves over and over.
Moreover, against truly powerful opponents, this would be a glaring weakness.
“Well, now that this matter’s dealt with, I’ve been given some time to work on it.”
...
Moen stood up, stretching instinctively.
Despite having just undergone a fierce battle in his consciousness space, he still felt remarkably refreshed, both mentally and physically—like he’d been through a cleansing under holy light.
“This is…”
Moen suddenly realized something. Scooping a handful of water from the bathing pool, he brought it to his nose to sniff.
The faint medicinal scent hidden beneath the floral fragrance made Moen chuckle softly:
“Couldn’t it be a bit more straightforward adorable?”
...
Night had fallen, but when Moen stepped out of the bath, he noticed the lights in Celicia’s room were still on.
After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over and knocked on the door.
“May I come in?”
“…Come in.”
The door creaked open.
Celicia sat with her head down, diligently processing documents.
Across from her, Weier, whose rounded face resembled a bun, blushed slightly upon seeing Moen but quickly turned away.
“I’ll go brew something for you two. What would you like? Tea or cof—”
“Coffee!”
Moen and Celicia simultaneously replied in unison.
“Coffee it is, then. No need to be so loud about it.”
Weier shot them a peculiar glance, then swiftly left to prepare the drinks.
Celicia finally raised her head to look at Moen, her eyes shimmering faintly.
Fresh from his bath, Moen exuded a clean aura. The flickering light etched his profile, outlining his sharp and striking features.
Even Celicia couldn’t deny the Campbell family’s genetics were flawless when it came to looks, leaving no room for criticism.
It’s no wonder he could charm so many girls despite his poor reputation.
“Still working so late?” Moen asked curiously, leaning closer.
“Just handling some paperwork, assisting the higher-ups,” Celicia said openly, as the documents weren’t particularly confidential.
“Is that so?”
Moen’s gaze instinctively scanned the papers, his brows furrowing slightly. “But shouldn’t this work fall under the jurisdiction of the Lower City District’s administrator? What about Guen Viscount?”
“He’s dead,” Celicia replied coolly. “I killed him.”
“…” Moen’s mouth twitched.
Perhaps it was better not to ask why.
“The higher-ups are probably still muddling through their disputes, deciding who’ll take the position. That’ll take some time. So for now, I’ve stepped in to help, that’s all.”
After a brief exchange, Celicia lowered her head again, engrossed in her work.
Though not confidential, even someone as unfamiliar with administrative tasks as Moen could tell these matters were incredibly tedious.
And the more intricate and repetitive, the more draining they became.
“But… you don’t have to be the one doing this, right?” Moen couldn’t help but remark. “The Lower City District isn’t solely managed by Guen Viscount, is it?”
“…I’ve killed about a third of those other managers too.”
“And another third are now in prison. The remaining third—those who haven’t fallen apart in fear—probably aren’t worth relying on.”
“…”
“Of course, I could just wash my hands of this and leave it all behind. No one could blame me for it. In fact, by taking this on, I’ll likely provoke criticism from those nobles for overstepping my authority. And frankly, I didn’t want to deal with it.”
“But…”
Celicia lowered her gaze, hiding her fatigue, as she gently massaged her temples.
“But given the recent turmoil, if no one steps in to organize the Lower City District, what kind of chaos would ensue?
“How many people might die unnecessarily?”
“…”
The girl’s frosty voice mingled with the flickering firelight, filling the bedroom where neither of its occupants slept well.
Moen suddenly lifted his head, silently staring at Celicia’s delicate face. For a long while, he didn’t look away.
It wasn’t until Celicia, clearly irritated by Moen’s unwavering gaze, raised her head and glared coldly back at him that he finally broke into a grin.
“Celicia, has anyone ever said something about you?”
“What?”
“That sometimes—you’re really quite adorable.”
