After stepping through the door, Moen squinted slightly, quickly adjusting to the bright light.

A whole new world unfolded before his eyes.

Blue skies.

Fluffy white clouds.

Rolling meadows.

Dense forests.

Lush fruits and vibrant flowers.

A gentle breeze blew in from afar, carrying an unfamiliar fragrance. In the distance, a river split through the plains, its waters shimmering pure white, perhaps because of the lighting.

There was no sun, yet the brightness was just right, making it feel cozy and pleasant.

“This… is The Lost Land of Canterwell?”

Moen was slightly stunned. Prior to arriving, he had entertained many guesses about the relic's interior and had studied plenty of reference materials.

Even original texts described ancient relics as remnants steeped in darkness, filled with traps, and sculpted by the passing of time, riddled with signs of decay—a place where only faint traces of past civilizations whispered of bygone glory.

But now…

Moen crouched down, letting his fingers dig into the soil, scooping up a handful of earth.

The black soil was interwoven with the roots of plants, exuding a rich, earthy scent that underscored the vitality of this place.

Far from being an extinct relic, the area resembled a thriving kingdom.

“It’s… so beautiful.”

Beside him, Lea—who had entered through the same door—stood amidst swaying flowers, her small mouth slightly parted as she stared around in awe.

The green hem of her dress fluttered in the breeze, blending harmoniously with the surrounding leaves, framing her delicate face in the vibrant bloom of nature.

“Though my saintess teacher mentioned how beautiful this place was, I didn’t expect it to be this breathtaking… And the vitality here… the magic…”

Lea closed her eyes, a look of joy emerging on her brow as she took a deep, savoring breath.

“It’s so abundant. Even outside, this place would absolutely be considered a paradise of perpetual spring and flourishing life.”

As a saintess candidate connected closely to the Goddess of Life, Lea adored such increasingly vibrant environments. Being here, she could feel happy without doing anything at all.

“It is very beautiful.”

Moen nodded, his eyes reflecting the mesmerizing scene. Suddenly, he said, “It’s a pity we don’t know any recording magic.”

“Recording magic?”

Lea opened her eyes, looking at him curiously. “Why would you need that kind of magic?”

“With it, I could capture how stunning Lea looks right now.”

Moen rubbed his chin, admiring Lea in this moment, and said earnestly, “A photo of the future saintess before her fame—now that would be an heirloom-worthy masterpiece, hung prominently in a household for daily admiration. I wouldn’t sell it, not for any amount of money.”

“Eh… What… what are you saying? My picture being used for something like that? An heirloom? That’s so exaggerated…”

Lea froze, then stomped her foot in shy frustration.

Moments later, she lowered her slightly flushed face toward her chest. With adorable sidelong glances, she twisted her fingers and murmured softly:

“But if Moen really wants… I can try.

I… know how to do recording magic…”

“…”

Leaves rustled and swayed in the breeze around them, casting sparse shadows that danced across the girl’s shoulders, creating a scene of perfect light and shade.

This was an image that no matter the angle or photographer, would count as an irresistible, picture-perfect composition.

Yet for some reason—maybe it was the sudden increase in wind—Moen found it hard to breathe, his heartbeat quickened.

“Do you wanna try?”

It seemed Lea had overcome her own embarrassment, raising her head and blinking at him with curiosity.

“Let’s… let’s forget about it. We have more pressing matters to focus on right now.”

Moen averted his gaze, swiftly changing the subject.

“By the way, you mentioned your saintess teacher earlier… Does that mean Lea doesn’t know much about this place either?”

“I know about it just as much as everyone else. The church tends to treat everyone equally and doesn’t offer special privileges even to saintess candidates.”

Lea pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. “Besides, no one could claim they truly know about this place. The church only conducted basic explorations in the outer areas, confirming that the relic isn’t overly dangerous. If not, our primary mission wouldn’t be about exploring deeper into its core.”

“That’s true.”

Moen turned, looking toward the distance.

Against the backdrop of white clouds and blue skies was the vague outline of a towering barricade.

Yet even the strongest of barriers couldn’t escape the wear and tear of time.

A relic buried under layers of earth for thousands of years yet still pulsing with vitality and completeness—how could one not be curious, or feel a longing for the secrets it held?

Perhaps this was the reason the church intentionally dangled so many enticing rewards, drawing various factions to join the endeavor.

Not to mention the extra bait dangled at the last moment, a move Moen personally saw as laden with the Pope’s sarcasm.

“Here’s another question.”

Moen gathered his thoughts and turned back to Lea, asking:

“Given that the church wants us participants to uncover Canterwell’s truth by exploring its depths—what exactly are the qualifications needed for you saintess candidates to officially become a saintess?”

It couldn’t very well be the first one to reach the deepest part automatically earns the saintess title, could it? That kind of trial seems to have nothing to do with the saintess identity.

“About that…”

Lea scratched her head awkwardly.

“I’m not entirely sure either.”

“Huh?”

Moen froze.

“What do you mean by not sure?”

“Be… because with each holy ascension ceremony, the qualifications to become a saintess are always different. It’s something we have to discover ourselves. But, um…”

Lea pulled out the crystal given to her earlier by her saintess mentor.

“It probably has something to do with this.”

“This?”

Moen glanced at the crystal in her hands. Clear and radiant, yet he could sense no extraordinary quality.

It reminded him of the night her saintess mentor had solemnly bestowed these same crystals to every saintess candidate present.

“Yes. Based on records of previous rituals, every ceremony gives saintess candidates different identification items. The qualifications to become a saintess are tied to these objects.”

“I see…”

Moen stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Even something as vital as the process of sainthood required candidates to deduce on their own, huh?

The church sure didn’t leave any loopholes.

Then again—there was always one unspoken option the church hadn’t mentioned, but everyone implicitly understood.

Moen glanced at Lea and silently mused to himself:

——Eliminate the other saintess candidates.

If no one else remains to be chosen, the only one left automatically becomes the saintess.

Just like the brutal saintess wars of ages past.

“Well, at least everyone starts on equal footing. From here on, it’s all about personal effort.”

With the warmth of a sunny afternoon spent in a roadside bookshop in mind, Moen tightened his fist and extended his hand forward.

“Toward the title of saintess—let’s do our best.”

“…Mm, let’s do our best.”

Lea paused for a moment, then smiled brightly and touched her little fist to his lightly.

“I’ll work hard not to drag us down!”

“No, no, Lea’s the ace here. If anyone’s dragging us down, it’d be me,” Moen teased.

“Ugh… Moen, are you making fun of me?” Lea puffed her cheeks indignantly.

“It’s the truth…”

“You’re lying…”

“I never lie—especially to a beautiful girl.”

“You’re lying…”

...

Amid small talk, the two began pressing deeper toward the relic’s core.

The direction wasn’t hard to determine thanks to the presence of the towering barricade.

So far, there wasn’t any trace of others. While over a hundred individuals had reportedly entered, that number paled against the vastness of this expanse—they left no ripple in this enormous realm.

Still, neither of them relaxed their vigilance. Despite the church’s assurance that the relic’s danger level was “low,” Moen continued clearing the path ahead, while Lea remained behind him, releasing her senses to monitor their surroundings.

Just like the time before.

Lea gazed at Moen’s broad back, her thoughts drifting back to the forest long ago.

The same unfamiliar setting.

The same enigmatic path ahead.

The same quiet companionship.

But this time...

Lea placed her hand over her chest, where warmth seemed to faintly linger. She lowered her gaze slightly, eyes falling to his side.

Could her present self still pretend it was “a last-ditch necessity” and—calmly, without excuses—take his hand like before?

Could she…?

“Hold on.”

His silhouette suddenly halted, catching Lea off guard as she crashed into it.

“Wah… that hurt!”

“Hmm?”

Moen turned around in puzzlement, chuckling lightly. “Wow, Lea zoning out at moments like this? That’s rare.”

“I was… just thinking about the conditions for becoming a saintess a little,” Lea said, cheeks flushing as she covered for herself.

...She couldn’t remember since when she’d become so adept at lying.

Merciful Goddess, please forgive Lea once again.

“Why… why did you stop suddenly?”

“Look over there.”

Moen pointed ahead. “There’s a village.”

“A village?”

Lea peeked out from behind him, following the direction of his pointing finger.

Sure enough, nestled within a sea of green were rows of structures, quaintly arranged, exuding a rustic charm.

“So that means… there are natives here?”

Lea’s widened eyes shone with excitement, brighter than a summer day.

If they could uncover Canterwell’s mysteries, there was no simpler or more effective method than extracting information from the local inhabitants!

“Possibly… but don’t get too hopeful just yet,” Moen dampened Lea’s expectations.

“Huh? Why?”

“The vegetation around the village is overly dense, showing no signs of human activity—and we’ve yet to see a single patch of farmland. That’s highly unusual for a village.”

"Ah…"

Lea looked as disappointed as a kitten whose fish snack had just been stolen.

"Anyway…"

Moen sneaked a glance at the young girl, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Let’s take a look first. Maybe we’ll find something unexpected."

"Okay!"

…

The two entered the village, and just as Moen had anticipated, the place was desolate.

Knee-high weeds overwhelmed everything in sight. Half-collapsed houses had walls covered with green vines. In the center of the village stood a windmill, but now only a broken blade remained, creaking sadly in the breeze.

"The architectural style… it’s definitely different from outside," Moen remarked.

He placed a hand on the rough wall, noting that the entire structure seemed to be made of an unknown material, shaped into a cylindrical form.

The entire village followed the same design: cylindrical walls paired with conical rooftops. It reminded Moen of the building blocks from his previous life.

Ancient people certainly had a playful sense of design…

Moen habitually made a quip to himself, but then added, "Still, this place doesn’t seem… that ancient."

He picked up an item from the ground. It was a piece of cloth, decorated with intricate, incomprehensible patterns. Although tattered and covered in dust, the fabric's preservation indicated that this place hadn’t been abandoned for very long.

A century?

No, perhaps only a few decades. Compared to the thousands of years suggested by Canterwell’s legendary status, this time frame was ludicrously short.

Moen casually pushed open a door that had become fragile with age. Dust swirled into the air as an empty room appeared before him.

After a moment of thought, Moen tossed the cloth into the room. Waiting a few moments, he then threw in a few stones.

The house was dark, devoid of light, as if concealing lurking beasts within. But apart from the low echoes of his actions, nothing happened.

"Is this just an ordinary abandoned village?"

Moen rubbed his chin, lost in thought.

"Moen!"

Lea suddenly called out from nearby, waving her hand enthusiastically.

"Come look at this!"

"What is it…?"

Moen walked over to her, following her gaze to the base of the windmill—at the very center of the village. What lay there was a stone structure.

It was a statue.

The figure had long flowing hair and a dress that billowed out elegantly. Arms were outstretched, as if ready to lovingly embrace all life. It looked as though…

"A goddess?" Moen was stunned. "Why would there be a statue of the goddess Emil here?"

Could Canterwell also have worshipped the Goddess of Life?

"Right? It looks so similar!"

Lea clasped her hands together in a moment of pious prayer, then tilted her head and said in bewilderment:

"Except… there’s one thing that’s different."

"Different?"

"This statue… it doesn’t have a face."

"Face?"

Moen froze, immediately recalling the enormous statue of the goddess in the Holy City and the countless depictions he’d seen in various churches. All of them featured a flawless face—the masterpiece of the world’s finest artisans.

The face, though lacking intricate details, radiated benevolence and holiness. A mere careless glance could stir an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if committing sacrilege.

But the statue before him had a completely featureless face—empty and uncarved.

"Is… is this just a difference in craftsmanship?" Moen speculated.

Even statues representing the same deity couldn’t possibly be identical.

"Maybe," Lea agreed with a nod. Then, with a huff of indignation, she added, "But according to the scriptures, a faceless statue of the goddess is deeply disrespectful!"

"Uh… this might just be a difference in their local customs of worship," Moen reasoned.

After all, in his past life, followers of the same god had divided into countless denominations, each with their own interpretations. Variations in scripture were hardly surprising.

Especially in a place buried underground for what could be millennia, like Canterwell—church doctrines might have gone through a dozen rewrites in that time.

"I get that, but…" Lea started to argue, only to suddenly stop mid-sentence. When she turned to look at Moen, she couldn’t hold back a giggle.

"Hehe…"

Lea’s laugh was as clear and pleasant as the chiming of silver bells. "Why do you look like an old man now?"

"An old man?"

Moen blinked, instinctively touching his hair—only to realize his hand came away covered in dust.

"Ah, from earlier," Moen muttered, recalling the dusty room he had explored. In his cautious search for potential dangers, he had overlooked his own disheveled state. Damn. My handsome golden hair…

"Hold on, let me just use some Holy Light—"

"It’s fine for something like this. Save your strength," Moen interrupted, smiling.

"I heard the sound of water earlier. There must be a stream nearby where I can clean up."

"Alright," Lea relented, withdrawing her hand.

Tsk, there goes my chance to touch his head. What a pity.

"I’ll keep looking around then?"

"Be careful."

"Got it."

…

Following the sound of water, Moen trekked through dense underbrush.

When they first arrived at Canterwell, he’d noticed a river far off in the distance. Under the play of sunlight, its waters appeared soft and white, almost ethereal.

"This should be it," he murmured.

The sound of rushing water grew louder. Finally, after slicing through the last bush with his knife, Moen laid eyes on the river he’d unconsciously been anticipating.

But in the moment he saw it, his steps faltered.

He froze, staring at the river, his face filled with astonishment.

Because…

"White?"

Even now, standing right before it, even in the shadows where sunlight couldn’t affect its appearance, the river before him was still white.

Milky white.

"No way…"

Moen approached the water, dipped a finger into it, hesitated for a moment, and then, with crimson sparks igniting faintly in his eyes, cautiously licked the tip of his finger.

The result hit him like a bolt of lightning.

"This is…"

"It’s actually milk?"

And not just that—it was utterly ordinary milk, devoid of any spoilage or unpleasant taste. Pure, fresh milk.

Nothing unusual or dangerous about it. Just normal milk.

But how could this be?

This was… a river!

Moen’s gaze darted from the river’s distant origin to the point where it disappeared into the forest.

This wasn’t just some small trickle. It was an entire river!

"Moen!"

Lea's voice rang out, a trace of distress in her tone. He turned abruptly to see her standing breathlessly at the opening he had cleared earlier.

In her hand was a fruit—one that looked like an apple but was significantly larger, plump and vivid red.

"Look… look at this!"

"What is it?"

"I was searching to see if there might be anything edible, so I picked this fruit. But look…"

Lea produced a small knife and sliced into the fruit.

From the cut seeped an intense red liquid.

No… that wasn’t juice.

That was… blood.

The metallic tang drifted into Moen’s nose, undeniably confirming that it was blood.

But how could a fruit contain blood?

Lea then cut the fruit completely in half, revealing the shocking sight of red fibers crisscrossed with streaks of white beneath its peel.

With a faint tremor in her voice, she said:

"The fruit on the tree… it’s made of meat."