“It should be in this area.”

The priest held the holy book in his hand, his gaze sweeping across the region ahead.

Crows took flight from the branches, cawing in alarm as they flitted away. The sunlight, unable to penetrate the dense foliage, made the forest appear even deeper and quieter.

“But I still can’t pinpoint Moen Campbell’s location.”

Behind the priest, Fular frowned unconsciously.

Around her, invisible threads of magical energy extended and spread like a spider’s web. She did not even need to find Moen Campbell himself—if he had been through here and left even the faintest trace, she would feel it distinctly.

This was the division of labor among their group. The employer, who had hired them through Hyena, provided key resources, while Hyena’s sharp instincts narrowed Moen Campbell’s general location. Then, Fular would use her magic to pinpoint his exact position.

With this dual assurance, even in such an expansive and shadowy forest, Moen Campbell had nowhere to hide.

Yet, now that Hyena's perception had failed them, the priest had taken on the responsibility of determining their general target area. But even within this narrowed-down zone, Fular’s sensing magic still could not find the man they sought.

Could something have gone wrong…?

“Are you questioning me?”

The priest suddenly turned his head.

His tone was calm, and his face bore a kind smile, but Fular immediately lowered her head, as if she dared not meet his gaze.

“No.”

“Don’t worry. He is definitely here, in this area.”

The priest’s eyes scanned the surroundings once again.

In his sight, even in this windless grove, every tree, every vine quivered ever so slightly, its branches and leaves swaying as if pointing him toward the right direction.

This, he thought, was the gaze of the Lord.

Thus, Moen Campbell could not have gone far.

“It’s just that his ability to conceal his presence is better than I expected. Despite being so close, neither you nor Hyena can pinpoint his exact location.”

“So, what do we do?”

“No need to panic.”

To Fular’s astonishment, the priest calmly sat cross-legged on the ground, as if he were an unhurried traveler taking a casual rest. He spoke with a relaxed tone:

“If the prey won’t show itself, then we shall simply wait. After all, there’s no rush. Patience is a crucial quality for any good hunter.”

“...Fine.”

Seeing no better option, Fular could only agree reluctantly.

The threads of magic continued to spread outward, but her gaze shifted to the side.

That detestable Barton, ever since the earlier incident, had been utterly silent. Now, he simply leaned against the foot of a tree with his eyes closed, meditating. He remained completely unresponsive to her disdainful glare.

In contrast, the hyena-like man was still sniffing and prowling on all fours, his actions grotesquely similar to an actual canine. Every now and then, he flipped over piles of decomposed leaves, relentlessly hunting down traces of Moen Campbell.

Yet that duke’s son turned out to be far craftier than they had anticipated. After suffering a setback earlier, he left no trace behind—not even once.

“Ridiculous. Every single one of you is useless,” Fular muttered with a frustrated sigh.

Were it not for her pursuit of the materials vital for her ascension, she would never have taken on such a risky mission—one that entailed offending a duke.

Not only did she have to team up with the likes of the dangerously unpredictable priest, but she also had to endure her incompetent and infuriating companions.

Even their employer wasn’t trustworthy; the intel they had provided never suggested Moen Campbell would be this troublesome!

After this mission, Fular might truly need to flee the empire for good—though, to be fair, she had little attachment to this country.

The only regret...

It would surely bring trouble to her elder sister.

Her elder sister rather liked this empire. Fular could see why: the country’s men, especially its aristocrats, were mostly stupid but wealthy—perfectly suited to her sister’s taste.

What a shame.

As Fular turned her head, a flash of white fluttered in her peripheral vision—a pure, white butterfly weaving gently through the air amidst the leaves.

The magic threads continued to extend, consuming her mental energy, and fatigue began to weigh on her.

She stretched out a finger, letting the daring butterfly alight on its tip.

Staring at the pure, pristine wings of the butterfly, so untainted by filth, she felt her exhaustion ebb slightly, as though purified. A faint smile appeared on her lips.

“Let’s end this quickly,” she murmured softly.

“My sister must be waiting for me.”

The butterfly flapped its wings delicately, as if responding to her words.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered.

And then.

A man’s deep voice—low, resonant—spoke suddenly and unexpectedly near her ear.

“I will grant you that wish.”

What…?

Who?

When?!

Fular’s pupils constricted as her hand instinctively gripped her wand. The protective magical barrier encircling her body blazed brightly in an instant.

Yet a short blade of dazzling white seemed to cut through the barrier like paper. Effortlessly, it pierced her without obstruction.

*Ting!*

One of her enchanted artifacts shattered, unleashing a defensive force that diverted the fatal strike, sparing her vitals and buying her a precious moment to react.

Her fingertips moved swiftly. Several pre-prepared magic scrolls slipped out from her spatial artifact and unfurled themselves, their intricate magic sigils glowing as powerful spells formed in a heartbeat!

But in that fleeting instant, she saw it again—that pure white butterfly, fluttering delicately.

Its wings, soft and serene, swayed in an ethereal rhythm.

The white blade sank deep into her abdomen. A jolt of excruciating pain shattered her trance.

Now she understood.

In this forest, teeming with grotesque serpents and odious insects, how could a gentle creature like a butterfly possibly exist?

Why had this butterfly not seemed the least bit out of place to her?

What, then, was this butterfly?

“Sanctified projection.”

A new voice spoke—light, clear, and melodious, as though sung by a lark.

The butterfly scattered, dissolving into radiant holy light and flooding into her scrolls.

The carefully inscribed magic patterns froze, as if uncontrollably clogged by something foreign.

Then, they shattered.

The channels ruptured, breaking apart, and the stored magic within them dissipated into chaos.

Her priceless scrolls—now nothing more than scraps.

For just a moment, Fular’s eyes were blank and unfocused. Before her, light distorted, and the faint shimmer took shape—a man with golden hair materialized before her.

One hand grasped a young girl with impossibly ample chest. Faint electrical arcs flickered across his body.

The other hand...

...held the pure white blade that had pierced her abdomen.

And without hesitation, he twisted the knife.

“Why…”

“When…”

“How could…”

She coughed up a mouthful of blood, bits of flesh expelled with it. Her dazed eyes stared at the man before her, a whirlwind of unanswered questions flooding her mind.

Moen’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

“‘Lighting Spell’... isn’t just for illumination, you know?”

Indeed, the so-called “Lighting Spell” was just a basic manipulation of light.

But when applied cleverly, its functions could expand far beyond its original intent.

Optical distortion—a magic-based form of cloaking.

This was the fruit of Moen’s recent intensive study of foundational magic theories, refining its most elementary principles until it became a deadly weapon in his hands.

And in this dimly lit forest, with its complex shadows and vast stretches of indistinguishable greenery—what better environment could there be to deploy such a technique?

Paired with alchemical methods to mask scent and Lea’s holy blessings, the result became an almost flawless assassination.

Their target, naturally, had to be the enemy team’s most fragile member—the one who could most threaten them: the mage.

With the priest’s true capabilities a mystery, Moen adhered to the universal battlefield rule: eliminate the caster first.

But alas...

The first strike wasn’t quite fatal.

As Moen withdrew the blade and prepared to strike again, Lea’s anxious voice echoed beside him.

“Moen!”

“I know,” he replied, his expression darkening slightly.

What a pity.

But whatever.

An injury like this would surely render the mage incapable of fighting for a long while. That alone was enough for their goals.

The rushing sound of air behind him signaled an attack.

Moen kicked Fular’s body aside as he turned swiftly, letting go of Lea’s hand. His twin blades flashed forward, crossed in defense.

*Clang!*

The metallic clash of steel screamed into the stillness of the forest.

Sharp claws tore into Moen’s short blades like an unyielding mountain bearing down on him.

“One billion! Haha, one billion—you’re here!”

Hyena’s bloodshot eyes gleamed with frenzied joy. His hands had transformed into monstrous talons, his body covered in jet-black scales. Bone spikes jutted grotesquely from his back, further adding to his savage appearance.

He bared his sharp teeth, saliva dripping foully from his maw, his gaze locked on Moen. He muttered incessantly, “You’ve come...you’ve really come...I’m so happy! So happy!”

With a guttural roar, Hyena’s massive body surged with power, pressing down viciously on Moen.

“Damn it…” Moen’s knee hit the ground, forced into a kneeling position as his blood churned violently within him.

“I can tell you right now—I’m not happy to see you. Let me guess—you’re another twisted lab experiment by some lunatic scientist?”

Though he had anticipated the encounter, the sheer disparity in their strength was staggering. This Hyena was a beast built purely for physical dominance.

If not for the brutal endurance-building regimen Teacher Mela had inflicted upon him back in the day, Moen was certain he wouldn’t have survived even this single strike.

“Moen…” Lea’s worried voice broke through his pain.

“I’m fine,” Moen said, exhaling deeply as sacred light surged into him, rejuvenating his battered body.

“Remember what I told you about our plan?”

“Yes.” Lea nodded firmly.

“Good.”

Moen gritted his teeth as a steely resolve lit up his eyes.

“Then let’s begin! Let’s set our plan in motion!”

At his word, holy radiance surged.

Hyena, seemingly caught off guard by interference in his duel with Moen, appeared perplexed for a moment.

And then—

The sacred light engulfed him entirely.

The holy radiance brought a searing pain, causing the hyena to unleash a cry of anguish.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Moen surged forward, activating his time-slowing ability, his dual blades striking swiftly and decisively.

Don’t forget, from the very beginning, his strength had never been in brute force — it was in... speed.

A long-lost combat technique.

In that brief instant, even Moen himself couldn’t count how many of the hyena’s attacks he had evaded or how many times his blades had struck.

With Elizabeth’s sharpness and Lea’s holy light imbued into his weapons, even with the vast disparity in power between them, the blades could slice through the hyena’s tough scales. The holy light clinging to the weapons burned the foul and filthy blood coursing through the creature.

Blood splattered everywhere, and the holy light spread.

Though the hyena’s incredible regenerative abilities healed the wounds at a speed visible to the naked eye, the intense pain only seemed to drive it into madness.

The hyena roared and thrashed, losing all semblance of reason, blindly swiping its sharp claws on instinct alone.

Seizing the opening, Moen’s blades precisely slashed across the hyena’s eyes and snout.

"ROAR— One billion!"

The hyena’s vision plunged into darkness, and its sense of smell was overwhelmed by blood. Yet, in its final desperate act, it raked its claws ferociously across Moen’s chest!

*Rip—*

Flesh tore, and several ghastly wounds appeared across Moen’s chest, so deep that bone was visible.

"Moen!"

Lea hurried to his side. "I’ll heal you."

"No."

Moen firmly grabbed Lea’s wrist, stopping her. His gaze was steely as he declared, "This kind of injury is nothing to me. Do as I said before — leave now!"

He pulled Lea along, not sparing a glance at the hyena, now at its weakest and most vulnerable. Turning swiftly and with all the speed he could muster, Moen ran, escaping.

That’s right — Moen’s plan had never been to defeat these people from the start.

It was... to break through!

From the brief skirmish last time, he had clearly realized that, with just himself and Lea, there was no way they could match these people under normal circumstances.

Never mind the massive difference in power levels — these infamous criminals, well-known even on the Empire’s most-wanted list, had remained at large for a reason.

Not everyone was like those cannon-fodder enemies with inflated power levels who got one-shot by the protagonist in some cheap fantasy story. The people pulling the strings behind the scenes wouldn’t send incompetents to hunt him down.

Facing them head-on was simply impossible — trickery was the only option.

First, through a surprise attack, he disabled the physically frail but highly threatening mage, who could tracks and attacks to jeopardize their escape.

Then, throwing caution to the wind and exchanging injury for injury, he exploited the frenzy of the mentally unstable hyena, temporarily crippling its senses and incapacitating it.

And next would be...

"Ha! Moen Campbell!"

A voice rang out, laced with anger and accompanied by laughter. Alarm bells erupted in Moen’s mind!

Out of instinct, he released Lea and crossed his twin blades in front of him in defense.

*Clang!*

It felt as though an invisible, massive steel blade had slashed down upon him. The terrifying force caused Moen’s hands to tremble, forcing him to retreat step by step. It was only with Lea’s help that he managed to stabilize himself.

As expected — next came this guy.

Barton.

"Lea."

"Hmm."

Lea extended a hand, holy light transforming into countless pristine white butterflies, fluttering toward Barton.

Meanwhile, Moen suppressed the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat and tightened his grip on Elizabeth, ready to strike at any opportunity Barton might reveal while distracted by Lea’s interference.

But...

As the holy butterflies approached, Barton’s crazed, vengeful grin unexpectedly faded. His eyes swept over the surroundings before lingering on Lea briefly. To Moen’s astonishment, Barton didn’t resist. He stood motionless, allowing himself to be engulfed by the butterflies.

What’s going on?

Moen froze in place, dumbfounded. He had anticipated Barton being a significant problem, especially after how he had mocked him previously. Before executing the plan, Moen had even devised possible strategies for facing a fully unhinged fourth-tier fighter.

So... was this some kind of fallout with his teammates?

An idea crossed Moen’s mind, but there was no time to delve deeper. Regardless of the reason, Barton’s concession was undoubtedly good news for them.

Gripping Lea’s hand, Moen declared, "Let’s go!"

Once more, they sprinted at full speed.

This time, no one pursued.

Which meant...

Only that mysterious priest was left.

Out of the corner of his eye, Moen glanced at the figure who had barely moved this whole time. Yet, the ominous feeling in his heart refused to subside.

Still, since the priest wasn’t taking any action, there was no choice but to ignore him for now.

"Lea, can you still sense the position of the Holy City?"

"Yes," Lea nodded firmly. "We’re getting closer."

"Good. Just a bit more effort. I suspect the reason they’re pressing so hard is because we’re nearing the edge of the forest."

Moen spoke resolutely:

"So as long as we weather this final wave, our chances of escaping will increase greatly."

"Uhmm," Lea responded softly.

The scenery around them blurred as they dashed ahead.

Lea, however, felt no attachment to the sights. She let herself be pulled along by Moen’s hand, sprinting as though they were lovers eloping in some dramatic tale. Her eyes remained on his determined profile.

"How incredible..." she murmured almost inaudibly.

Though their enemies were significantly stronger — at least an entire tier above, with hands stained by countless lives — this man showed no trace of fear.

When Moen had first laid out his plan for breaking through, explaining how they would have to confront their foes head-on for a brief moment, she had genuinely thought he must be insane.

Yet, they succeeded.

Or rather... he succeeded.

Those terrifying enemies who had seemed utterly invincible to her were now either incapacitated temporarily or unable to pursue them — all due to him.

In what felt like a hopelessly desperate situation, he had still managed to find a sliver of hope.

If it had been her...

No, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.

She couldn’t handle even one of those foes. All she could do was provide whatever support she could, just as she was doing now.

And that... was it.

Luckily...

She had Moen by her side.

"Look out!"

Suddenly, Moen’s familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts, followed by a warm embrace pulling her forcefully and rolling them both to the side.

"Ugh... What happened?"

The abruptness of the situation left Lea feeling dazed. Struggling to lift her head from Moen’s chest, she ignored the rapid pounding of her heart at the intimate closeness and gazed around.

Then her breathing quickened, and her expression froze, mirroring the grim look on Moen’s face.

In front of them, the towering, thick trees stood like giants, their numerous branches writhing and entwining as if alive, resembling a swarm of massive serpents about to devour anything in their path.

Where they had been moments earlier, a massive hand-like structure had risen from the ground, its shape transforming into twisted branches.

A chill ran down Lea’s spine. Had Moen been even a fraction slower, she would have been crushed into unrecognizable pulp alongside him — truly inseparable in death.

"A sudden strike with no warning, no fluctuations of magic or battle aura, yet capable of casually manipulating the forces of nature... This is..."

Moen’s face darkened as he turned abruptly:

"A Divine?"

"No, no, you’re mistaken. Someone like me wouldn’t be worthy of my Lord’s unconditional favor."

A calm voice answered.

Standing not far behind them, a priest clad in a long clerical robe, holy book in hand, smiled serenely.

"At most, I’m only someone who, through devout prayer, has earned the tiniest bit of divine grace from my Lord. It’s nothing worth mentioning."

There was kindness in his expression, an aura of peace — and yet his mere proximity made Moen’s heart race with unease.

"Devout prayer..."

Moen eyed the towering trees that had seemingly come to life. This didn’t feel like the power of some Dark God.

"The power of faith... A clergy?"

"Something like that," the cleric replied earnestly, nodding.

"I am, after all, someone who serves my Lord."

"Something like..."

That phrasing sent a chill down Moen’s spine.

"Moen."

Lea lightly tugged at his sleeve.

"The divine grace... it seems to be from the southern Forest God."

"The Forest God?"

Never heard of it.

"A deity with a very niche following. Only a few ancient tribes still have worshippers dedicated to this divinity."

"Got it..."

Moen drew a deep breath to steady himself, then fixed a cold smirk on the priest.

"So, you’re neither a divine-blessed one wielding power from a rule-based perspective, nor backed by a powerful church. And you, yourself, appear to lack any martial ability. Yet you dare to come so close to me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll cut you down right here?"

"You’re welcome to try," the priest replied, his smile unwavering.