After being "purified" by Lea's holy light, Moen and Lea continued to explore the village.

Still, they found no traces of danger or abnormalities. Instead, in every single house, there was a statue of the goddess being worshipped, a testament to the devout faith of the original inhabitants.

Besides this, the passage of time had eroded the village to the point where it was hard to discern its original state, leaving very few useful clues.

Exploring the area surrounding the village further, the two discovered fruits resembling "chicken meat," "fish meat," and other types of meat.

"No wonder there’s not even a hint of farmland here. In a place like this, there's no need to laboriously grow anything," Moen remarked.

In the outside world, only the wealthy and the upper classes could afford such delicacies, but here, all it took was stretching out a hand to easily acquire them.

"When you think about it this way, it seems almost blissful. But that’s not a kind of bliss I’d dare to indulge in," Moen mused lightly. She casually discarded the sumptuous fruits, then turned to Lea:

"Let’s move on. We likely won’t find anything else of value here."

"Alright."

Lea nodded emphatically, her mood evidently cheerful since earlier.

…

Canterwell was devoid of a sun, and with it, any sense of time.

In fact, ever since Moen had entered this relic, the intensity of the ambient light hadn’t changed one bit. Morning, noon, and evening—none seemed to exist here at all.

However, when the pocket watch Moen had reset to track time upon entering showed that six hours had passed, he finally saw the outline of a town emerging from across the plain.

"As expected, where there’s a village, there will surely be a larger gathering place—a town."

Cautiously, the two reached the edge of the town and peered inside.

"Yep, another abandoned one."

Lea glanced all around. The town was just as deserted as the village—overgrown with weeds. In the depths of its eerie darkness, it felt as though countless shadows might be lurking.

Apart from some peculiar graffiti on the walls, there was nothing special about the town that caught their attention.

Both Moen and Lea quickly shifted their focus away from this silent town, settling their gaze instead on what lay beyond—

the colossal wall rising behind it.

"So this is... the wall the Church mentioned, the one that divides the interior," Lea said.

"Yeah, that must be it," Moen replied. "Saintess Teacher told me about it. The reason the Church’s explorations remain confined to the outer regions isn’t just the fragility of the relic itself—it’s also because this wall blocks any path forward. To get through, we’d need to open a passage."

"A passage? Something like a door? Wouldn’t alternative methods work?" Lea asked curiously.

Moen raised his head, his gaze following the wall upwards. He let out a sigh. The higher the wall stretched, the fainter its color became, until it completely blended with the sky at the uppermost part.

Only now did Moen realize just how dauntingly tall this wall was. It might even connect directly to Canterwell's "sky," dividing the entire domain into two distinct regions—inside and outside.

While the wall’s purpose remained unclear, one thing was certain: there would be no taking shortcuts. Any progress would have to be a direct breakthrough.

"It seems the area beneath this wall is destined to become the focal point of competing claims among all the participants this time," Moen remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

The vast outer regions made encounters between participants quite unlikely. Moen hadn’t seen anyone else in the six hours since entering, which said as much.

But for anyone harboring ambitions of delving deeper into the relic, they would inevitably converge at this wall.

This included the candidate saintesses—and their knights.

"Let’s move in," Moen said decisively, "while there’s still no one else here. We might be able to seize the advantage."

"Okay... Huh? Moen, Moen, look over there!" Lea suddenly exclaimed, tugging nervously at Moen’s sleeve as she pointed.

Moen followed her gesture, his gaze focusing, and his expression hardening.

Right there at the town’s outskirts, beneath a section of the crumbling wall, was a figure slumped against it, utterly motionless. Moen realized that he hadn’t noticed it earlier at all.

Upon closer inspection, he discovered that it wasn’t a person—or rather—

it wasn’t a living one.

It was…

"A corpse?"

In the shadow cast by the wall, the pale face of the figure was frozen in a mask of terror. Its lifeless, wide-open eyes emanated void-like despair, coupled with a trace of harrowing hatred.

It was the body of a man, who appeared to have only recently died. Fresh, warm blood trickled from a hole in his forehead.

"An original inhabitant?" Lea asked tentatively.

"No. Judging by his attire, he seems to be an outsider, just like us," Moen said.

Approaching cautiously, Moen began examining the injuries on the body.

The deceased wore a surprisingly clean uniform of some kind. Other than the gaping wound on his forehead, there were no other noticeable external injuries.

Nor were there any signs of a struggle in the surrounding area.

In other words…

he had been killed in a single strike?

But for someone to qualify for participation in this ritual, they couldn’t have been an ordinary person. What kind of opponent could have inflicted a fatal blow in an instant?

Lea’s small face grew tight with unease, the same frightful realization dawning on her as she turned nervously to Moen.

"What do we do now?"

"I think…" Moen began to reply.

*Zheng!*

Before the words fully left his mouth, the answer was made abundantly clear.

The sharp sound of a projectile slicing fiercely through the air startled the stillness, as if claws had ripped through it, dripping with chilling murder intent and malice.

"Moen, watch out!"

Lea’s warning cry nearly overlapped with the incoming strike of a freezing arrow. But even before her voice had reached him, Moen’s body moved instinctively, shifting a few centimeters to the side as if he had anticipated the attack.

The arrow shredded effortlessly through his *battle aura* defense and grazed past the side of his face. Had it not been for those few centimeters, his forehead would already have been pierced, just like the corpse beneath the wall.

"A magic arrow capable of easily penetrating *battle aura* defenses, huh?"

Moen’s gaze shifted slightly, observing the arrow behind him—an arrow that had just obliterated an entire house into rubble.

The arrow had massive destructive power and astonishing speed. From what Moen could feel, it carried a host of attributes: anti-magic, stealth, armor-piercing, poisonous, and fiery.

But most alarming was something else—before the whistling sound of the arrow had reached his ears, his usual death warning… had failed to trigger once more.

This was exceedingly rare. The last time it had happened, it was due to an assassin concealing their killing intent by suppressing their cultivation level. But for a long-range sniper attack like this, who would willingly cripple themselves before firing?

Suppressing one’s abilities to that extent would make even drawing the bow impossible.

So then—was it something unusual about the arrow?

Or the shooter?

Moen raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze toward the dark silhouette lurking in the shadows.

"You honor me greatly by presenting such a priceless gift right off the bat," Moen said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Honor? You freak got me startled here, you know?"

A voice called out as a young man clad in a silver uniform stepped from the shadows. A beastly insignia gleamed on his chest as he held a longbow, directing a predatory, cruel smile at Moen.

"The infamous pretty-boy from Celicia's royal house... You don’t seem to be the harmless rabbit everyone claims you are."

"Pretty-boy..."

Moen's forehead veins twitched:

"Sir, although I admit that I have a face that countless men envy, it is very rude to call me by such a nickname."

"Is that so? I'm sorry, I was being reckless."

The young man nodded seriously, seeming to realise the inappropriateness of his words, “Then please leave with your saintly maiden candidate. You, the scoundrel who’s juggling thirteen women at once.”

“…That’s just nonsense made up by the newspapers.” Moen gritted his teeth.

"Is that so?"

The young man froze, then pulled out a small booklet from somewhere and frowned:

"But I bought your intelligence from a strange stuffed bear, and it records this incident in great detail. Every battleship is documented from start to finish, especially the story about sinking the Dreadnought-class battleship. It's the most dramatic realist emotional drama I've ever seen!"

"Huh? ... stuffed bear?"

Moen's eyebrow twitched as he saw the hand-drawn pink bear face in the corner of the young man's booklet, as if mocking him...

Pink bear!!

Bastard!!

So you weren't just spreading rumours about me in the newspaper?!

This grudge must be avenged; I’ll definitely give you a taste of your own medicine later!

“Forget it. Even though it cost me a thousand Emil, it doesn’t matter now. Moen Campbell, your biggest mistake was showing off your strength too early in front of others.”

The young man casually tossed aside the booklet, drew his bow, and sneered:

“Sometimes, weakness is an advantage. But no wolf would tolerate a sheep shaking its butt in front of it, let alone you, who represents the empire and the Divine Knights!”

The young man released his fingers, the bowstring snapped, and the second whistling sound rang out again!

Unlike before, Moen felt a surge of magic power this time!

"Lea, get out of the way!"

Moen instinctively had Lea take cover, but as he turned his head, he met her tense and resentful gaze:

"Moen, is it... is it true that you're juggling with thirteen girls at the same time?"

"It's a lie!"

Moen roared tearfully.

What's going on? Didn't she say she still believed in him earlier? Why is she wavering now?

I'm not that powerful. So far, I've only been juggling...

No, this isn't the time to think about that!

A violent explosion erupted from where the arrow struck, and the scorching heat swept through like a fiery tornado.

Fortunately, although Lea asked this, her movements did not slow down, and she successfully dodged the attack with the help of the holy light.

However, in the billowing smoke, an even more intense and terrifying magical fluctuation once again emanated.

“You managed to dodge it again? It seems I’ll have to take this a bit more seriously.”

A sigh of regret echoed from the young man nearby.

This time, the source of the magic wasn't the arrow—it was... a chant!

"Moen, be careful! The emblem on that person's chest... it's from the Summoning School..."

Lea's voice trailed off, drowned out by the growing chorus of high-pitched chants.

Moen's pupils contracted slightly as he waved away the smoke, but the figure on the other side was not Lea—it was...

A pouncing beast!

The creature, resembling a wild wolf, stood upright, its razor-sharp claws slashing through the air with a metallic tang that could tear through steel.

This is...

A magical beast?

Moen's pupils narrowed rapidly. Activating his Shadow Step, his figure flickered, dodging the beast's attack.

But avoiding the assault brought no relief; instead, his mood grew heavier.

As the smoke settled, the surrounding environment revealed itself.

One after another, ferocious magical beasts emerged from the shadows of the desolate buildings, pacing toward Moen and steadily enclosing him.

Atop a towering structure, a magical beast emanating a ruler's savage aura lifted its head to the sky and howled, an ear-splitting sound.

"A summoning technique... You're a summoning-type mage, aren't you?"

Moen dodged another beast's strike and seamlessly plunged Elizabeth into a vital spot.

Yet even with its throat pierced and blood gushing, the beast didn't relent. It snarled viciously, lunging to bite Moen.

Moen's figure flickered again. Frowning, he glanced at the uniformed young man.

"You alone managed to summon so many magical beasts?"

Information about summoning magic surfaced in Moen's mind.

He was no longer a novice in magic. Over this period of rigorous study, while he could still only cast a single Lightning Spell in practice, his theoretical understanding had grown tremendously.

That's why he was so astonished.

Summoning magic could produce entities either bound by a contract, fearsome beings from the Abyssal Seas, or magical constructs.

But regardless of the type, a summoner’s magical capacity directly determined their power.

And yet...

Moen glanced at the ever-growing horde that had completely surrounded him. By now, there were nearly a hundred magical beasts.

This number… was terrifying.

"Hah, isn't this the difference between a genius and a commoner?"

The young man smirked arrogantly, as if looking down on an ant struggling in vain.

"Keep struggling. I'll make sure to savor the view!"

"Genius? Commoner?"

Moen ignored the man’s taunts, instead turning to survey his surroundings.

"So, what about Lea? Was she also made to disappear by your so-called genius magic?"

"Heh, who knows..."

The young man cocked his head. Following his gaze, Moen spotted an area beyond the wall, equally ensnared by magical beasts. From within came flickering holy light and the anguished cries of a girl.

"Perhaps..."

Seeing this, the young man’s grin grew even more insolent, as if it aimed to pierce Moen's heart like a dagger.

"The one you swore to protect might just be meeting a tragic end soon, Mr. Knight."

"..."

Moen's expression turned dark at once. He glanced again at the distant scene but said nothing, his movements abruptly accelerating!

Dozens of magical beasts pounced simultaneously, forming a net as if falling from the heavens, leaving no room for escape.

But Moen didn't evade.

Instead, a cold blade’s light burst forth between gaps of flesh, splitting a path open instantly.

Blood sprayed, cascading like torrential rain.

"Hmm?"

For the first time, the young man showed a hint of surprise, though he quickly resumed his composure.

"You've surprised me again, Moen Campbell."

He gestured, and more beasts emerged from the shadows, making up for the negligible losses from before.

Moen’s agile figure darted rapidly, his blade swift and precise. But the beasts seemed endless, a constant tide.

Amid the encirclement, Moen appeared fragile and insignificant.

Like a lone raft adrift in a boundless ocean, always teetering on the brink of capsizing.

"Impressive, impressive. With your current strength, it seems you did have the nerve to provoke the crowd that night. But I wonder... how long can you last? Or perhaps, you'd rather hear the screams of your precious saintess?"

The young man laughed heartily. At the same time, the girl’s cries of anguish turned to screams, her voice laced with despair. Stripped flesh and tattered pieces of her pristine white dress seemed to be tossed out from her encirclement.

"...."

And yet, Moen's expression remained cold and silent.

He moved like a machine, avoiding the beasts’ attacks at an increasingly rapid pace. When he couldn’t avoid, his blade carved a path forward.

Mechanical. Relentless.

As he maneuvered, he abruptly lifted his gaze toward the young man.

"Hmm?"

The young man, who had been aiming a magical arrow at Moen for a finishing blow, frowned slightly.

An odd feeling crept over him—a fleeting distortion, as if Moen’s figure had blurred for an instant. But when he focused, there Moen was, still within the swarm of beasts. Just slightly closer than before.

Was it a hallucination?

Discarding the thought, the young man refocused on finding the perfect killing shot.

At that moment, Moen glanced at him once more.

This time, his expression was peculiar.

Glancing a third time, Moen’s face grew even more strange. Then he lowered his head slightly, seemingly pondering something.

"So that’s it."

Moen appeared to figure something out. To the young man’s astonished gaze, he suddenly stopped moving.

In the thick of vicious magical beasts, Moen came to a halt.

Casually twisting Elizabeth to flick off the beasts' blood, Moen turned to face the young man and spoke unhurriedly.

"So you're... not actually a summoning mage."

"What?"

"Rather... you're..."

Moen pondered once more before confirming.

"An illusionist."

…

…

"Whoa? Quite the lively scene here."

Pink Bear arrived at the seating area for "Santa Maria College," clutching an oversized bucket of popcorn, just in time to witness two white-bearded old men nearby engaged in a heated argument.

"Tobias, I've had enough of your Illusionist School nonsense! Dammit, your students are out here stirring up trouble by pretending to be from my Summoning School! No one wants to marry my summoners because of you!"

"Ridiculous! Dodge, watch your filthy mouth! Who told your students to keep consorting with those stinky magical beasts? They treat the beasts better than they treat women! No wonder they can’t find a wife. You think we *want* to impersonate you? It’s *our* dignity that's on the line!"

"Blasphemy! Stinky magical beasts? It’s called camaraderie! Bonds! What would your people, who just giggle at conjured beauties and paper-thin illusions, ever understand?!"

"You’re the clueless one! We’re simply studying how to perfect constructing women in illusions—to deceive enemies, mind you!"

Pink Bear chewed mouthfuls of popcorn with gusto. Having recently struck it rich, even the popcorn he spilled on the ground didn’t faze him. Meanwhile, his eyes sparkled as he watched these legendary figures, towering icons of the magical field, escalate from cursing to the verge of rolling up their sleeves and brawling. Yet, for all the supposed drama, the ensuing fallout seemed no more impactful than a scuffle between sidewalk vegetable sellers.

"That's enough, gentlemen."

A voice as gentle as a spring breeze suddenly resonated, instantly quelling the tension.

The saintess, as composed and smiling as ever, glanced toward the two elderly men.

"Please, let’s not make a scene for others to mock, shall we? And besides… this is the church."

"Hmph!"

"Tch!"

Both men harrumphed, glaring daggers at one another. Yet in deference to the church’s authority, they reluctantly retreated to their seats.

Coincidentally—or not—their assigned seats were right next to each other.

"What’s all this? Quite the show, huh?"

After the squabble subsided, Pink Bear seemed genuinely disappointed, lamenting the lack of further drama as he continued munching his popcorn.

"Look over there."

Beside him, Angus, the Marquis and fellow Empire delegate, motioned toward the center.

At the heart of the venue—a space neither extravagant nor humble but brimming with luminaries of fame and renown—a luminous screen displayed a live feed from Canterwell.

Currently featured on screen was none other than...

"Moen, that kid?"

Pink Bear arched an eyebrow.

"He's in a fight already?"

"After hours of boredom, it’s the very first battle."

Angus gave a light cough, daintily dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief.

"So naturally, all eyes are on him."

"Is that so?"

Pink Bear rubbed his chin. "But it doesn’t look good for the kid, does it?"

Onscreen, Moen’s movements remained swift, his blade strikes sharp.

Still, to the audience, it seemed as though Moen was... slashing at empty air.

That’s right—air.

No visible enemies stood before him, yet he swung his blades as though trying to hack something into pieces.

"An illusion? I see now."

Pink Bear stroked his chin again, piecing together the reason behind the earlier quarrel between the old men.

In the Tower of Origin, a rivalry between the Illusionist School and the Summoning School was well-known.

Illusionists notoriously loved masquerading as summoners to stir trouble. After all, few things were more terrifying than the thought of someone who could summon deadly magical beasts or monsters with ease.

Because of their methods, the Illusionist School had long been infamous, and by association, so had the Summoning School, despite their innocence in such matters. Thus, resentment between the two schools had simmered for years.

Whenever their paths crossed, an argument was almost inevitable.

But right now, few people cared much about the tensions between the two schools. Most eyes were riveted on the glowing screen ahead.

"What a pity," someone sighed regretfully. "To fall so unsuspectingly into a trap… He’s still too young."

"Not even realizing it's an illusion, his fate is all but sealed. This candidate from Leopard Empire isn’t as outstanding as expected."

"I heard their finest—Princess Celicia and a student named Ariel—didn’t come."

"So we’re already about to see the first saintess-candidate eliminated? And so soon too."

"The Illusionist School's students seem particularly exceptional this time around."

Some couldn’t help but turn to Tobias, the elder representing the Illusionist School, with congratulatory nods.

"The boy’s name is Arag? To have so skillfully layered multiple illusions... such enviable talent."

"Flattery, mere flattery."

Despite modestly waving the praise aside, Tobias straightened his spine and stroked his beard with a spirit glowing brighter than his characteristic humility.

"His execution still has rough edges. Much to correct, much to refine. Of course, against such no-name competition, he can afford to—"

"Eh?"

Suddenly, someone let out an exclamation.

Others even craned their necks and widened their eyes.

Meanwhile, beside Huo Gu, a man named Dodge Sloar, once a representative of the Tower of Origin who had gone to Belland for *that* incident, spit out a mouthful of tea as soon as Huo Gu uttered the words "obscure and unknown," looking at him inexplicably.

"Hmm?"

Believing his own student had victory in hand, Huo Gu finally noticed something unusual. He couldn't help but shift his gaze back to the screen again.

His expression gradually darkened, a look of disbelief creeping in.

"That brat…"

...

...

"You're not a summoning magic user at all."

Facing Arag, whose expression had grown as dark as his teacher's, Moen smiled and spoke word by word:

"What you’re using... is illusion magic!"

"You..."

Arag's eyes flashed with panic as he asked hoarsely:

"How did you figure it out? Was there a flaw in my illusion?"

"No, your illusion is flawless."

Moen's fingers brushed against his cheek.

The sting of the arrows.

The imposing aura of the magical beasts.

The metallic tang of blood.

Everything... was flawless.

"But—"

Moen toyed with the pure white dagger in his hand, looked at the illusion magic prodigy in front of him, and chuckled softly:

"I’ve already slashed you over a dozen times, yet you didn’t react at all. No pain, no blood..."

"So tell me, if it’s not fake… then what is it?"