The process of joining forces went even smoother than Moen had imagined.
In fact, although most of the participants held grudges against each other—some as recent as unresolved shame over having been groped—it was clear to everyone that obtaining the truly precious treasures of the relic and further earning the Church's rewards required passing through the golden gate before them.
Until then, all internal conflicts were meaningless.
Thanks to Freya’s persuasive efforts, more than half of the participants ultimately chose to stay and work together to unlock the golden door.
Of course, the ones truly capable of contributing to unlocking it were the few recognized experts in magic, alchemy, and ancient formations.
Everyone else was relegated to preparing for unforeseen mishaps—or ostensibly so. In truth, they mostly just stood aside and watched, their raw strength offering little in the way of assistance at such a critical moment.
Still, as long as no one caused trouble, it was the best outcome this loosely formed, self-serving alliance could hope for.
…
“Please sign this.”
“What’s this?”
Moen stared in surprise at the Platinum Princess in front of him, her aloof and haughty demeanor unshaken, as she handed him a pitch-black document.
“It’s a Death Pact.”
“A Death Pact…”
Moen raised an eyebrow. Unlike half a year ago, he was no longer the ignorant person he once was. He immediately understood the nature of this so-called Death Pact.
It was a form of binding contract. Once signed, if the signee violated its stipulated terms, they would face dire consequences.
Similar to the deity oaths often employed by believers, the Death Pact’s enforcement stemmed not from an ephemeral god but from the horrific curses embedded within the document itself.
As his fingertips felt the cold, tactile surface of the document, the sensation sent a chill across Moen’s skin, making his hair stand on end.
“Bringing out something like this...”
Moen paused, then quickly caught on. He looked into Margarita’s eyes and asked:
“You don’t trust Freya?”
He recalled that the Platinum Princess was exceptionally accomplished in magic and was likely one of those responsible for unlocking the door.
“I don’t trust you either,” Margarita replied flatly, her expression cold and distant, tempered with a faint trace of anger.
… It seemed his previous indiscriminate verbal jabs had indeed offended her.
Forcing himself to maintain his gaze and not let his eyes wander—so as to avoid causing further unintended offense—Moen began carefully reading the terms of the Death Pact.
The content mainly prohibited any acts of aggression during the door’s unlocking process. The clauses were meticulously formulated. After a moment of deliberation, Moen found no loopholes. Satisfied, he picked up a quill and, with polished strokes of a noble’s cursive script, elegantly signed his name beneath the long list of signatures.
Next, it was Lea’s turn. Trusting Moen, she didn’t even bother reviewing the terms and signed her name without hesitation.
Then came the others in Moen’s group.
“The pact is now in effect.”
Once the final signature was affixed, the entire Death Pact floated into the air. Orange flames flared and devoured it slowly.
At the same time, Moen felt as though something cold and serpentine coiled around his neck, exuding a vague yet unmistakable threat of death.
“Decapitation, perhaps? I doubt even the Church could save us before our heads were separated from our shoulders,” Moen remarked, touching his neck. Suddenly, he called out to Margarita, who was about to leave.
“One moment.”
“What now?” she asked.
“What’s your take on the earlier conversation?”
“Earlier conversation?”
A hint of confusion surfaced on Margarita’s dignified face.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Moen said, his face blank. “Your knight was eavesdropping on my talk with Freya the whole time earlier. Don’t pretend he didn’t report back to you.”
“Shh-shh-shh~”
Nearby, Paul whistled tunelessly, assuming an air of studied indifference while looking up at the ceiling as though it held rare and fascinating secrets.
“…”
Margarita glared at him sharply, then, after a moment of silence, said, “It changes nothing. We’ll proceed as planned—it’s not like it’s the only way.”
“This one’s way too casual about things,” Moen sighed wryly.
“Casual?” Margarita raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the side. “Look over there—the saintess candidate is practically asleep!”
Moen glanced over, and sure enough, Miss Faye had slipped into a quiet nap in the corner.
“…” Moen’s lips twitched in disbelief. What could he possibly say? People said I was slacking off, but clearly, someone here is even more of a lost cause!
“And even if we put all that aside…” Margarita turned her gaze to the imposing golden gate, her expression suddenly laden with meaning. “We still don’t know what exactly it is we’re supposed to ‘save,’ do we?”
…
“Moen,” Lea murmured after Margarita left, her hand instinctively tugging at Moen’s sleeve.
“Is the requirement for becoming a saintess really to save this kingdom invaded by the Dark God? With just… us?”
“What? Getting scared?”
“No.” Lea bowed her head shyly, wringing the hem of her dress. “Not scared… just uneasy. It’s funny, actually. All these years as a saintess candidate, I’ve never actually saved anyone. I’m nothing like the other saintesses—especially Miss Freya. I heard she stopped a plague once, saving countless lives…”
“Why so little confidence again?” Moen said, using the opportunity provided by the others’ distraction to sneakily ruffle Lea’s hair.
“Don’t worry. The diligence you’ve shown all these years of study is no different from what Freya did.”
“Eh?”
“The more skilled and knowledgeable you are, the more people you’ll be able to save after becoming a saintess. Take your saintess mentor, for example. She could casually recite the names of a few medicinal herbs and save the life of someone critically ill. That’s something no one could do without painstaking study and preparation.”
“So, regardless of what the real prerequisite for becoming a saintess is or what path you must take, your current mission is to believe in yourself—trust the person you’ve been all this time.”
“Your path was laid out for you over the past ten years,” he concluded.
Though touched by Moen’s rich and warm voice, Lea lifted her gaze and felt the reassuring warmth of his palm. A radiant light seemed to shimmer deep within her eyes.
“Go.” Moen smiled gently, his usual soothing expression putting her at ease. “From now on, make sure they remember your name.”
“Yes.”
…
Lea stepped forward toward the majestic golden gate.
The door bore no ornamentation, its surface resembling molten, silent iron. Yet Lea could sense the cold façade concealed an ominous, deadly intent.
Intricate matrices, structures, alchemical glyphs, and magical runes filled the entire massive gate. A single misstep while unraveling its mechanisms could trigger a disastrous chain reaction.
The mildest consequence… would be everyone buried alive together.
As for the worst-case scenario… if the creator of this door had been sadistic enough, even emergency escape via spatial scrolls would be rendered impossible amidst such a labyrinthine construct.
The pressure was palpable.
“Don’t hold me back.”
Lea blinked and turned toward the voice.
It was a tall, lean man wearing a magician’s robe from the Tower of Origin, his chest adorned with a golden emblem. His sidelong glance was brimming with arrogance.
A member of the Revelation School, Nalissige.
As a school specializing in astrology and the study of universal laws, the Revelation School prided itself on solving intricate mechanisms. Nalissige, the current leading figure of his generation, had no shortage of skills to underpin his lofty demeanor.
Ordinarily, Lea’s reserved nature meant she’d let comments like his pass unchallenged.
But this time…
“I won’t hold you back.”
Meeting Nalissige’s gaze, Lea firmly countered, “I’m very competent.”
Her reply left Nalissige stunned. Without waiting for a response, Lea took a deep, steadying breath, cleared her mind, and placed her hands firmly against the cold gate.
