"It’s time for me to return the favor and give you a taste of ecstasy."

As the field flashing with arcs of electricity expanded, threads of flame gradually began to spill out from the wounds on Moen's body with each breath.

The flames were crimson, slightly different from ordinary flames. They danced around Moen, flickering and flowing like playful spirits, imbued with a sense of vitality.

Yet, if one gazed upon them for too long, it felt as though one could glimpse deep within the flames… a hint of death and destruction lurking beneath.

"This flame is…"

The priest's gaze grew focused.

Magic?

Combat technique?

A magical relic?

An alchemical weapon?

Or perhaps the effect of an ancient relic?

He couldn’t be certain.

The peculiar field flickering with arcs of electricity had utterly shielded his divine sense, which extended through his divine grace. Even though Moen was standing directly in front of him, within his perception, there was nothing.

Including those bizarre, suddenly manifested flames.

However…

As the flames arose, the temperature in the air did not increase at all. The darkness of this death-enveloped domain wasn’t alleviated in the slightest by their light. Even the tattered fabric hanging on Moen, as it came in contact with the flames, remained completely unchanged.

These flames, though they behaved as flames, exhibited none of the typical effects or characteristics of fire. They danced there, inexplicably, as though heat and light were absent from their very essence.

They seemed harmless.

Of course, this might have been due to the unique field’s cloaking of the effects. Yet no matter how extraordinary the flames were, the priest remained unconvinced that Moen Campbell had any chance of turning the tide.

Just as he had said moments ago: in the face of divine grace, all external forces were utterly insignificant.

The only curious element…

The priest turned his gaze aside, towards the hyena also trapped within the field.

The creature was near Moen, close enough that it could have easily launched another lethal strike, plunging its claws once again into Moen’s flesh.

But it did not.

Instead, it simply stared at Moen with crimson, dazed eyes, its scales bristling all over its body, baring its teeth at moments, and letting out low whimpers from its throat at others.

It was behaving like a wild dog confronted by a lion.

It was afraid?

This monster, having lost most of its rationality and reduced to a bloodthirsty killing machine, was now quaking in fear, trembling?

Why?

What had it sensed within this field?

"Let’s start with you."

Moen suddenly turned his head and smiled at the hyena.

The smile was gentle, yet it sent a chill down the hyena’s spine – like a young girl stumbling upon a madman in a dense forest.

Then, Moen moved in a blur, traversing the short distance between them instantly, appearing directly in front of the hyena.

Without the constraints of divine grace, in sheer speed alone, Moen had already surpassed the hyena.

Thus, the creature had no escape—it could only stand there as Moen reached out, casually patting its shoulder like an old friend.

Immediately, crimson flames surged forth, engulfing the hyena.

Was he…

Planning to burn the hyena to death with those flames?

The priest furrowed his brows, his hands halfway flipping through the holy scriptures, before stopping.

To be cautious, he needed to know the true effects of these flames. For that, the hyena could be sacrificed temporarily.

Moreover, given the hyena's terrifying vitality and regenerative abilities, which could survive even a thousand cuts, even if the flames proved extraordinary, surely it wouldn't…

"Arghhhh!"

But in the next instant, the priest’s thoughts were shattered by the sharp, agonized howls.

As the flames encroached on the hyena, it began to thrash and shriek violently, as if suffering unimaginable torture.

It was as though all the pain in the world had gathered into its body. This creature, which normally felt no pain and didn’t flinch even when impaled by countless sharp blades, now used every ounce of strength to struggle and scream.

Desperately, it attempted to shake off the crimson flames, but they clung to its skin, adhered to its flesh—they burned relentlessly! They burned!

“ROAR—”

Finally, in the throes of despair, or driven by crazed desperation, the hyena locked its bloodshot eyes on Moen, and with blazing flames enveloping its entire body, lunged savagely at him.

The excruciating pain had forced it to abandon fear entirely, disregarding the terrifying aura emanating from Moen. It sought only to tear this man apart!

But just as the hyena’s claws closed in on Moen’s exposed neck, mere inches away, its movements froze abruptly.

Its gaze had met Moen’s eyes, unintentionally locking on to them.

At that moment, flickers of bright fire lit up within Moen’s calm, lake-like eyes.

And so too did flames emerge within the hyena’s vision, spreading outward from its pupils.

The flames were still crimson, now without substance, as they arose from its thoughts, consciousness, and soul—unnatural and flickering.

Then the burning began.

Burning.

Burning away everything!

“Grrkkk…”

The hyena's eyes widened, now hollow, as it tried to squeeze out a single word:

“King—…”

But ultimately, it failed to finish speaking.

Because Moen had already clasped its neck, extending his finger to his lips, softly issuing a quiet command:

“Shh—it’s better not to utter that name.”

“And also, goodnight.”

Moen’s hand suddenly tightened its hold.

But the sensation beneath his palm was no longer that of a living thing.

It was like the crumbling surface of a stone statue worn down by time, finally disintegrating completely in this instant.

With the sound of a sharp crack, the hyena’s entire body disintegrated into scattered ash, right in Moen’s grasp.

The ashes spread, carried off in the chaotic wind, disappearing entirely.

In mere seconds.

This formidable Four-Tier monster was thoroughly incinerated.

From the inside out, nothing remained.

Only the crimson fire lingered—hauntingly strange, leaping about even more joyfully.

"..."

At that moment, the scene fell into an eerie silence, as if even the sound of the wind had ceased.

And within this realm, encased by storms and ancient trees, the priest stared at Moen and the scattered ashes of the hyena beside him.

For the first time, his perpetually calm demeanor darkened ominously.

Even blind eyes, even perception dulled by the field’s suppression, could now recognize the true nature of this terrifying power.

This kind of undeniable burning at the level of universal law could not be achieved by any spell or artifact.

It was… a power derived from divinity.

"So that’s it… This is your trump card, isn’t it, Moen Campbell?"

“How amusing, truly interesting. Who would’ve thought that you, son of a grand duke, endowed with the finest resources in this world, would choose this path?”

After a brief silence, the priest broke into laughter, his tone dripping with mockery:

“So you are… a cleric?"

“...”

“Is it the god of flames, or the god of the forge? No matter, I doubt you’ll tell me the truth. Still, it is truly surprising... A noble of your stature, venturing down the ascetic and abstinent path of a cleric?”

The priest scrutinized Moen with bewilderment, clicking his tongue in astonishment:

“I’ve served the church as a priest for so many years and seen countless false believers—people who seek divine blessings but cannot truly commit to faith. You, however, Moen Campbell, you’ve managed to achieve this. You’re truly rare, exceptionally rare indeed."

“Abstinence isn’t really my thing… but fine, let’s pretend it is.”

Moen’s lips twitched briefly but, after some thought, he chose not to dispute it. Instead, he shrugged casually and said:

"Now that you’ve so quickly recognized the source of my power, why don’t you accept my suggestion too?”

“Hm?”

“Just like you said a moment ago.”

Moen gestured towards the empty space beside him, grinning as he spoke:

“To avoid ending up like the hyena, why not surrender? That way, I can kindly grant you a painless death.”

“...”

The priest listened to Moen’s familiar proposal and froze momentarily. Then, suddenly, he raised his hand to cover his face, concealing his expression as his shoulders trembled.

“Pfft… Hahahaha, Moen Campbell, you—you are truly an amusing individual.”

The priest laughed heartily before removing his hand, revealing a disdainful expression that had returned to his face:

“I admit, you’ve exceeded my expectations. However… why do you believe that merely wielding the favor of one god and killing that worthless beast, the hyena, entitles you to speak to me in this… arrogant manner?”

“No.”

Moen said earnestly:

“I’m being completely sincere in my suggestion. After all, if possible, I would rather avoid casually using this power.”

“What unbridled arrogance. In that case…"

The priest suddenly lifted the holy scriptures as a vast surge of faith magic emanated from his body.

He gazed toward the heavens when his expression shifted to zealous fervor:

“Then let me show you the true might of my revered lords!”

The scriptures flipped open.

Luminous, pure light radiated forth—sacred and majestic.

The priest pointed forward.

Countless towering trees stirred. Those massive, centuries-old trunks, each requiring over a dozen men to circle, suddenly twisted and bent with remarkable flexibility. They interwove into overlapping layers, forming an impenetrable net that enshrouded the insignificant, ant-like Moen within.

The twisting trees writhed like snakes in heat, their every movement leaving no room, no gaps.

It was unimaginable that such fragile flesh could possibly survive amidst this torrential surge. The priest could almost hear the sound of Moen’s bones being crushed one after another within.

However…

“Fwoosh.”

The sound of flickering flames abruptly shattered the priest’s illusion.

From the heart of the tangled trees arose crimson flames, spreading out as though ignited within a meticulously stacked pile of firewood, raging hotter and wilder by the second.

“Tsk, setting fire to a forest? You realize that’ll land you in prison forever.”

Emerging amidst the blaze, Moen’s figure slowly appeared, his tone carrying a hint of pity:

“Can’t you use some moves aren't lame like this?”

“It didn’t work?”

Looking at the flames engulfing the massive, centuries-old trees like kindling, the priest’s expression remained composed.

Such an outcome was already anticipated.

After all, wielding blessings from the god of forest to combat fire had never been a wise strategy to begin with.

However, his actions were driven by the fact that this divine grace was the most effortless and effective power he possessed.

And also...

To create an opportunity for his next move.

As if he had finally gathered enough energy, the priest extended his fingers, turned them into a palm, and pressed downward.

The fierce wind encircling the area froze in an instant.

Above the treetops, exposed after countless leaves were swept away, the heavens revealed swirling, contracting clouds. The massive storm formation resembled the advent of the apocalypse.

Then, from within the vortex, the true storm descended.

Unlike the currents of air that were previously used merely to entangle and suppress Moen, the storm now carried a terrifying blend of thunderbolts, hailstones, and razor-sharp steel—all converged together into a torrent of destruction.

This was no mere power of a single divine grace, but rather a combination of several, fueled by the vast reserves of faith that the priest had accumulated over the years.

Under this torrent of annihilation, the priest was confident that anyone below the five-tier had no means of survival.

Thus...

“It is over.”

Watching the destructive torrent precisely envelop Moen, amidst the storm and lightning tearing everything to shreds, the priest once again offered his faint, calm smile.

Moen Campbell truly was a fearsome individual.

But unfortunately, he had encountered the wrong opponent at the wrong time.

“I will erect a tombstone for your grave, and I will carve your name upon it.”

The priest lowered his head in prayer.

However, just as he raised his head again—after the storm had wreaked havoc—when he scoured the ruined wasteland for fragments fit to construct a simple grave, a chuckle suddenly rang out.

“Forget it. Cough, cough... Leave the matter of my grave to my future son, or daughter instead. You’re not yet qualified.”

The voice seeped out from the debris and dust swept up by the remnants of wind, scattered with a few weak coughs, yet it was... unbelievably clear.

Clear enough to send a jolt of shock through the priest’s heart.

“W-What?”

The serene smile instantly evaporated. For the first time, disbelief and terror surged in the priest’s eyes.

“How is this possible? This is impossible!”

The wild winds roared anew, sweeping away all dust and debris that obstructed his view.

Then, the figure of the blonde-haired man emerged.

He was not unscathed. Multiple divine graces had left gruesome wounds on his body, several deep enough to reveal bone.

But that was all.

He was still alive, still able to stand.

Moreover, the scarlet flames swirling on his body were ceaselessly healing his severe injuries.

“I see... I understand now, I understand!”

Gazing at the flames, as though realizing something critical, the priest screamed in a frenzy:

“That’s not divine grace, it’s divine favor!”

Indeed, this inexhaustible, freely-utilized divine power was undoubtedly distinct from divine grace, which diminished with every use.

This was divine favor—a manifestation of a god’s love and approval, a trace of divine principles brought to life in the mortal realm!

Moen Campbell—he was a Divine Favored One!

What kind of joke was this!

Such a thing had never been heard of before!

Divine Favored Ones were exceedingly rare. Their appearance almost always warranted documentation within the church.

Yet in all those records, Moen Campbell's name was nowhere to be found!

He was no obscure individual. He was the son of a duke—a child born into monumental attention. His every action had been subjected to scrutiny by those with vested interest. How could he have concealed this?

Concealed it so thoroughly that he never revealed his innate power to anyone until now?

Damn it! Divine Favored Ones typically awakened at the age of seven or eight. If he had possessed such maturity and restraint back then, what kind of terrifying person must he truly be?

“Hey, hey, why the sudden ‘this boy must not be allowed to live’ expression? Should I gasp dramatically for you?”

Moen, clutching his wounds, winced and inhaled sharply, genuinely gasping in pain.

The crimson flames were extraordinary, but their defensive capabilities were still somewhat lacking.

He had genuinely come close to being taken down earlier.

Fortunately, he could endure a beating.

With the aid of the crimson flames, he became even more resilient.

Moen began stepping forward, inching closer to the priest.

“W-Wait!”

The priest shouted in terror:

“Don’t come closer, stop right there!”

The storm rose again; thunder boomed.

One terrifying divine grace after another descended upon Moen.

To no avail.

Neither the wind nor lightning, neither steel nor hail—nor even the brighter, seemingly hotter flames—could penetrate the thin layer of crimson fire encircling Moen, as all were burned away completely.

Quantity simply could not compensate for the absolute disparity in quality.

“No, no, this can’t be right!”

Beholding this despair-inducing scene, the priest’s eyes turned bloodshot, his composure utterly shattered.

“Even if it’s divine favor—even if it’s divine favor—it shouldn’t be this powerful! It shouldn’t render years of devotion and toil spent cultivating my divine graces utterly ineffective!

“Who is your patron lord? Is it truly the God of Flame?”

“Yet there is even a regenerative force within—does this mean you are favored by multiple gods?”

As various speculations emerged in his mind, a new emotion—a seething jealousy—bubbled up within the priest, driving him to near madness:

“Why? Why can my years of devotion and daily prayers only earn me insignificant fragments of divine grace, while you—who have done nothing—receive such abundant favor from multiple gods?

Why? Answer me!”

“...”

Moen gave no reply.

Instead, he lowered his gaze slightly.

Before he realized it, he had walked directly to the priest.

So close.

Between them lay only a flickering spark.

This was the boundary of the alchemic domain.

“Teacher Mela’s domain is even more impressive than I imagined.”

Moen couldn’t help but compliment.

Despite being separated by this thin layer of domain, the priest still could not discern the aura of "Dark God King of Wither" trailing on the crimson flames. He continued guessing in vain which gods this favor hailed from.

Of course, he was wrong.

Naturally, in his wildest imagination, he would not have fathomed that this duke’s son—poised upon the brink of utter ruination—might have some sort of entanglement with the Dark God.

Moreover...

Moen turned his gaze toward the dancing crimson flames.

When this power manifested absent the spiritual pollution from the Dark God, it indeed lacked the eerie malevolence one might expect.

In fact, simply from its appearance, it seemed entirely unrelated to the Dark God.

“But I do need to be cautious with its use.”

Moen murmured to himself: “Power that does not belong to oneself must never be overly relied upon.”

Pulling his thoughts back, Moen refocused his gaze on the priest before him, now utterly crazed.

The man standing before him dramatically contrasted the composed hunter he had been moments ago.

“Alright, let’s put an end to this.”

Moen announced.

“To use your own phrasing: ends here, priest.”

“...”

Familiar words echoed in the priest’s ears, and his face immediately changed, the madness fading away.

He looked at Moen, then at himself.

After a long pause, in a trembling voice, he muttered:

“I still have the goddess’s holy light.”

“The holy light you possess is far less pure than Lea’s.”

“...”

Exactly.

Even now, when Moen stood this close, not even the goddess’s holy light would be able to stop him.

Was it truly over?

A trace of perplexity crossed the priest’s eyes.

The setting and words felt so familiar, yet the tables had turned entirely.

He had been the hunter before, whereas now...

He had become the prey cornered to a dead end.

Every divine grace he had possessed had been exhausted. In the face of this predicament, he had no recourse left...

“No, it’s not over yet!”

Suddenly, as if recalling something, a smile of crazed determination returned to the priest’s face.

He quickly flipped through his holy book.

All the way to the final page.

Sensing the faint trace emanating from that final page, he couldn’t help but tear up with joy.

“Yes, I still have one last card to play!

“The one I worship—the last Lord!”

...

...

“Hypothetically,”

At the long table, Robin, already tipsy, swayed his head as he inquired of White Tiger:

“What if—and I mean *what if*—Moen Campbell genuinely proves this ferocious and manages to slaughter his way out?”

“Don’t worry, that scenario won’t happen.”

Faced with such seemingly nonsensical speculation, White Tiger merely swirled his glass of wine and said calmly, “I have a trump card.”

“Hmm?”

Robin frowned.

“You mean the priest?”

“Exactly.” White Tiger nodded.

“With him there, no surprises will occur.”

“Indeed, that priest formidable. But they also have fatal weaknesses,” Robin mused.

“After all, he’s just an ordinary man.”

“An ordinary man? Hah.”

White Tiger sneered: “Do you really think someone like him can still be called ‘human’?”

“What do you mean?”

“Faith requires piety to evoke power from the gods. If one maintains devotion to multiple gods simultaneously, does that not indicate that their mind is already somewhat unbalanced?”

White Tiger smirked cryptically:

“And when someone as unhinged as that, who frequently interacts with gods, ends up attracting certain peculiar entities—that wouldn’t be surprising, would it?

“Otherwise, do you honestly think someone like him—a man blessed by holy light, practically a walking lighthouse in the eyes of the church—managed to evade the Inquisition’s relentless pursuit?”

“...I see, it all makes sense now.”

Robin froze for a moment but quickly pieced the logic together thanks to his keen intellect. He applauded appreciatively:

“As expected of you, Mr. Speaker. You even accounted for factors beyond conventional reasoning.”

“Of course.

“To completely destroy someone, holding nothing back is the necessary respect they deserve.”

White Tiger chuckled darkly.

"Indeed, though it may seem like making a big deal out of nothing, this isn't so bad after all."

Robin raised his wine glass again, a more sincere smile spreading across his face:

"Then let us celebrate our success in advance."

"Yes, celebrate success."

The clinking of glasses rang clear and crisp, still like the music of victory.

…

…

"Father Elsie, does God truly love mankind?"

Once, I heard such a question.

It came from a lovely little girl.

Her parents had died in a sudden outbreak of an unforeseen infectious disease, and ever since, she would come to the church daily to pray, speaking to the goddess and confiding her longing for her parents.

That day was no different. But after her usual prayer, she suddenly tugged at the hem of my robe and asked me this.

"Of course."

I patted her head and smiled gently:

"The merciful goddess watches over us all."

"But..."

The little girl blinked her innocent, wide eyes, shimmering with a childlike naivety that evoked deep pity:

"I've been praying so devoutly to the goddess every day, so why won't she answer me?"

"What prayer did you make?"

"I wanted the goddess to tell me how my mom and dad are doing in the heaven… sniff… and, I miss them so much, so much that I want to see them again. I dreamed about them once, but I couldn't even remember their faces anymore."

"…Rest assured, the goddess will surely grant your wish."

At the time, this was all I could say in response.

Does God love mankind?

Of course.

Before then, I was certain of this.

But a small seed of doubt began to take root and grow in my heart.

I wanted to know if God truly loves mankind—not a love crafted by scripture or the imagination of the faithful.

I wanted a divine answer, directly from the gods themselves.

Do they truly love?

I began to serve the goddess with even greater devotion.

But no matter how tirelessly I worked or how piously I offered my devotion, the goddess remained silent. She only granted me her holy light.

But I did not desire holy light; I wanted an answer.

Was it because there were too many faithful for her to respond to each?

Thus, one morning after our lesson ended, I started praying to other gods.

Still devoutly, still sincerely, still offering all that I had.

Yet even those gods, some with far fewer followers, did not answer me.

Like the goddess, they too merely bestowed power upon me.

Various powers.

But I didn't want power.

I only wanted an answer.

Does God love mankind?

So, one by one, and yet another one…

I began worshiping new gods, seeking endlessly.

Until that day.

What kind of day was it? I've forgotten.

All I remember is that on that day, as I stood beside the little girl who finally achieved her wish with my help, her joyful smile blooming like a small red flower, I clearly heard the voice of a divine being.

It spoke to me.

[Love.]

…

…

"Hmm?"

Moen's brow suddenly furrowed.

Because the priest standing before him was acting strangely again.

"It's not over yet! I still have one last card to play!"

"I still have… my final god!"

It was hard to describe the expression on the priest's face at that moment. It was like a chaotic stew—a mix of fervor, madness, sincerity, and piety—all wildly contradicting emotions tangled together on his visage.

But no matter how the priest’s expressions contorted, Moen could see only one message written clearly on his face.

He wanted to stir up trouble.

And it was already too late to stop him.

[Prayer.]

Solemn words rang out, silencing the entire world.

Moen's breath hitched, for he could feel it distinctly: as soon as the word left the priest's lips, a terrible gaze from a higher plane of existence locked onto their location.

Damn it, this familiar scene, this intense sense of déjà vu…

An ominous sense of crisis filled Moen's mind. He was already contemplating which posture to take when kneeling before the Black Book to beg for help without appearing overly humiliating.

[With all the strength of my faith, with all the blessings bestowed upon me, I beseech your favor,]

[Please, bestow your love upon me, the ignorant being.]

[Oh my most esteemed lord, the great… God of Love.]

Huh?

Who?

Moen’s eyes widened. As he was still processing the content of the priest's prayer, the changes began with its conclusion.

On the priest's increasingly convoluted face, his flesh began to writhe violently. Finally, on the side of his head, a new face emerged.

It was identical to the priest's—but with pulsing veins beneath the skin, as though countless worms squirmed beneath the surface, radiating nothing but sinister malice.

At the same time, ethereal hymns echoed in the air, and pristine white feathers drifted down from the void.

Gulp. Gulp.

The new face greedily devoured divine blessings and faith offerings that had belonged to other gods, showing a satisfied expression. But unsatisfied with only this, it opened its pitch-black eyes to gaze upon another tender offering.

And then it saw a dumbstruck face.

A familiar dumbstruck face.

Wide eyes met narrowed ones.

"What the hell?!"

After a brief silence, Moen finally snapped out of it, nearly jumping in shock:

"God of Love, why is it you?!"

What just happened?

How did this escalate into the God of Love showing up?

This storyline feels completely disconnected.

Or… has the priest's faith evolved to the point where he even draws in the God of Love?

[…]

Pitch-black eyes, for once, reflected the face of the insignificant ant before it. Previous memories resurfaced, and through the will transmitted via the priest’s form, rage and malevolence boiled over.

You again!

You wretched ant disrupting my plans again!

This time, this time I will…

Huh?

The black eyes suddenly froze.

Because they noticed the flames burning on Moen's body.

The realm of alchemy could not obscure its vision. With just a glance, it recognized the origins of those crimson flames.

[…]

Wide eyes met narrowed ones again.

"Haha, I feel it, I feel the love of my Lord!"

Completely oblivious to the bizarre tension, the priest spread his arms wide, shouting fervently:

"Ah, indeed, God loves mankind! My lord, my most revered lord, please kill this wretched being before me! Show him even more of your divine love!

I beg you… huh?"

The priest's impassioned cries abruptly ceased.

Because he sensed, once more, a change—and this time, not a favorable one by any measure.

As if time had reversed, the grotesque face on his head began to retreat, its dark eyes closing. The malignant visage melded back into his flesh, disappearing entirely.

The feathers dissipated, and the holy light vanished.

And the divine, overflowing sensation of love he had just felt also disappeared without a trace.

The God of Love.

Fled.

Fled without a shred of hesitation.

As for the blessings and powers it had just consumed, spitting them back out was, of course, out of the question.

And so there remained only an utterly powerless and thoroughly derelict priest, standing there, dazed, his face a picture of despair and confusion.

"Huh? My Lord?"

"Where is your love?"