Under the Pope's calm gaze, Moen couldn't help but feel his breath catch in his throat.

That uncomfortable feeling, as though his entire being was laid bare, began to creep into his heart once more—just like when he faced Teacher Mela or the Disaster earlier.

But this time it was different. His secrets—whether it was the divine favor from the King of Wither, or the holy sword reshaped entirely into daggers under Teacher Mela's rather unorthodox teaching style—weren't exactly things that one could lay before the Life Church with ease.

If the Pope respected Teacher Mela, that would be fine. But if he was the kind of man who couldn’t abide evil and pursued absolute purification, striving for world peace under the goddess’s will, a bright future for children, and...

Anyone even remotely connected to the Dark God would have to be killed.

Moen couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, imagining himself bound to a stake and burned alive in agony, while his Senior and Celicia and Ann and Teacher Mela, seeking revenge for him, stormed the corrupt church with a sword in one hand and his urn in the other, setting in motion an epic tale of vengeance...

Wait. Isn't that a bit... off?

Why is the prerequisite my death?

What's wrong with a wholesome and happy romantic comedy instead?

"You’ve got guts, kid."

Just as Moen was desperately trying to pull his thoughts back onto track, the Pope suddenly smiled faintly. But that smile—no matter how Moen tried to interpret it—only seemed more and more enigmatic.

Moen immediately straightened up, lowered his head, and broke into a cold sweat, responding, "I wouldn’t dare."

"No, I’m genuinely praising you."

The Pope suddenly raised his hand.

But what descended wasn’t thunder; it was the gentle touch of rain.

That broad, dry hand fell softly onto Moen’s shoulder. The compliment that followed felt like a spring breeze:

"I’ve seen countless so-called geniuses who were merely empty vessels, but to see a young man like you, still holding onto such courage in front of me, is rarely seen these days."

Just say my ability to court death is unmatched, would you?

Moen's lips twitched.

But—is this over now?

Moen wiped the sweat from his brow, subtly casting a glance at the Pope.

That gentle face bore no hint of disgust or hatred—only the genuine appreciation of an elder for a promising younger generation.

Teacher Mela did not deceive me after all. This church visit isn’t nearly as dangerous as I had imagined!

"Your Holiness praises me too highly. I’m just a coward afraid of death," Moen said humbly, carefully suppressing his inner delight before adding, "Honestly, Your Holiness is somewhat different from what I had envisioned."

"Oh?" The Pope tilted his head with curiosity. "And what kind of person did you imagine me to be?"

"Uh..."

Moen thought for a moment, gesturing vaguely, "I thought that, as the Pope, Your Holiness would be... more solemn, yes, solemn. But you’re so approachable—it’s honestly a bit... overwhelming."

"Is that so?"

The Pope’s brow arched suddenly, his smile turning into something teasing. "Are you saying that, in your eyes, I should be the sort of old man who’s halfway buried into the earth, rigid and outdated?"

"No, no, that’s not what I meant—"

"—That’s exactly what I am."

"..."

The abrupt shift nearly made Moen’s back spasm.

The Pope, however, remained nonchalant, continuing, "For someone like me—a shameless old geezer who’s somehow managed to live hundreds of years—I ought to have been buried long ago. I cling to a hope that probably doesn’t even exist, driven forward by stubbornness and decay. Those are indeed the most fitting descriptors for me."

"No way, no way! Compared to that old lolicon, Your Holiness is still rather youthful!"

Without skipping a beat, Moen eagerly threw his shameless teacher under the bus for context.

"True."

The Pope nodded with a chuckle. "After all, that MelaDormir—had already been..."

Before the Pope could spill more details, Moen’s eyes lit up with curiosity, brimming with gossip-worthy anticipation. But the Pope suddenly cut himself off, extending a hand to finally accept the letter Moen held out to him.

However, he didn’t open it. Instead, he simply set it aside, almost carelessly.

"Uh... Your Holiness, aren’t you going to take a look?" Moen asked, blinking with confusion.

"There’s no need. I already know the purpose of your visit."

"Do you perchance have the ability to foretell the future, Your Holiness?"

"Not foresight—for the paths are aligned, though the goals differ."

The Pope’s voice remained composed. "One simply needs to glance from afar to sense how far the other has traveled."

"Aligned paths?"

Moen mulled over those words, suspicion creeping into his thoughts. Could it be that the Life Church also...

"It’s a minor matter; don’t worry about it," the Pope said, his gaze drifting toward Moen. His expression seemed capable of piercing straight through Moen’s physical form to view the intricate designs and core beneath it, his admiration genuine.

"To advance this far in such a short span of time—you truly exceeded my expectations, Moen Campbell. No wonder that old... distinguished mage chose you as her apprentice."

"You flatter me, Your Holiness."

Moen scratched his head awkwardly. Being continuously praised by the most prestigious figure in this world was starting to make him feel slightly light-headed.

“So then...”

The Pope suddenly changed gears. "Will you be participating in this year’s Holy Anointing Ceremony?"

"The Holy Anointing Ceremony? Of course, I’ll..."

Moen instinctively began to agree but halted halfway, his eyes darting around as a sharpened intuition forged by countless brushes with danger began screaming at him.

No.

Something’s off. Extremely off.

Even if he’d worked hard up until now and was somewhat deserving of praise—there was no reason for the Pope, a dignified elder, to keep heaping compliments on him.

Because he’s Teacher Mela’s disciple?

But the Pope didn’t seem like someone who’d indulge in forced pleasantries to save face for others. Neither did he appear to have any necessity to do so.

This situation felt eerily similar to when someone said, "Here’s a pit. Go ahead and jump into it."

“Your Holiness... Might I ask a bold question?”

“Speak.”

“If I choose not to participate in the ceremony, would I still receive the cleansing of the Holy Light?”

“Under normal circumstances, no.”

The Pope cast a casual glance at the letter before smiling. "But considering what she’s wagered on your behalf, I could arrange a special one just for you."

“R-Really?”

Moen’s eyes grew misty.

Teacher Mela!

Even though she insisted upon him attending the ceremony, beneath it all, she went further and prepared another way out for him!

Dominating, tsundere, sharp-tongued white-haired lolicon—I might complain, but I deeply admire you!

I’ll be sure to repay this kindness someday with utmost care.

“Then I think I’ll pass,” Moen said nervously as he wiped his cold sweat. “Holy City is important, but participating in the ceremony wasn’t my main reason for coming here. There’s no need for me to join such a gathering.”

“Really?”

The Pope didn’t seem surprised. His smile remained mild as he replied, "Though we call it a ceremony, in truth, it only comes to fruition at the very last moment. Describing it as a trial might be more fitting. For young people such as yourself, it’s a rare opportunity—one that countless others seek out eagerly."

“No, no, it’s alright—I’m really not in need of any trials right now.”

Nothing’s more trial-worthy than being endlessly pursued by the Dark God.

Completing his task of delivering the letter to the Pope, Moen figured he might as well stay as a guest, enjoy the ceremony from afar with little involvement, and maybe pick up some local souvenirs. What’s wrong with indulging in that simplicity?

Why risk participating in life-threatening trials?

Consider those eligible for such ceremonies—all cream of the crop among nations and factions.

Sure, the rewards might be great, but to someone like him—an unapologetic survival-first kind of person—the prospect wasn’t enticing at all.

Besides...

Even just traveling alongside him seemed to spur Lea into life-altering calamities. Who knew what kind of catastrophic disruptions he might cause to what was meant to be a sacred event?

Though he wouldn’t be collaborating directly, attending the Holy Anointing Ceremony was far too risky an investment.

That young girl had spent her life pursuing this dream—it wouldn’t be fair for someone like him, an outsider of destiny, to sweep in and unpredictably alter her path.

Better to wait for Ariel’s return.

It wouldn’t take her long to emerge from the forest.

She belonged on this grand stage.

As for the academy, maybe he could soothe things over by donating generously under the Campbell family’s name. Surely Pulan the Professor and the Headmaster would forgive him by then.

Thoughts raced through Moen's mind, solidifying his stance.

Since his arrival at the Holy City, Moen Campbell vowed firmly: come what may, he would neither participate nor entertain the thought of joining this ceremony—not even in death.

“So, you’ve already made up your mind,” the Pope remarked, shifting his gaze as he pulled a pouch of bait from his robes. Tossing it into the pond, countless ink-colored fish swarmed to feast, painting the scene like an untamed ink splash.

“In that case, I’ll respect your decision and not press you. I trust you have your reasons.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness.”

Moen heaved a sigh of relief.

But even so, he couldn’t help but wonder—had the Pope really let him off the hook so easily?

Maybe he was overthinking it? Too many brushes with calamity might’ve left him with PTSD, making him suspicious of every act of goodwill?

What if the Pope had no hidden agenda at all?

“Take your leave now. As for the cleansing of Holy Light you need, I’ll have it arranged. Stay at the church for now in the meantime.” The Pope waved his hand dismissively, his calm expression betraying little emotion.

“Yes. Thank you, Your Holiness.”

Moen didn’t dwell on it any longer. Bowing once more, he respectfully withdrew.

Closing the modest door gently behind him, the room returned to stillness, with only the joyous splashing of the fish breaking the silence.

The Pope stared at the tiny creatures swarming toward the bait, his kindly face reflected in the rippling water with undiminished warmth.

He simply curled the corner of his mouth slightly.

"Heh, trying to stay uninvolved? But since you've already stepped halfway in, do you really think you can so easily escape the bonds of causality?"

With a casual wave of his hand, the school of fish scattered, like the elusive concept of so-called fate.

"Moreover."

The Pope lifted his head, as if his gaze penetrated layers of walls, locking onto the figure walking away with light and carefree steps. His aged eyes narrowed with a sense of delight, and he let out a cold laugh:

"Once is fine for taking advantage of Life Church, but to come back for seconds? Do you really think the things of my church are so easily taken?"

...

...