At this moment, in this spacious underground chamber, all the flames on the surrounding walls used for illumination had been extinguished by the surging turbulence.

Yet darkness did not fully descend. On the contrary, under the countless surging tides of mana, the entire space seemed placed within a finely crafted glass vessel, stained with a glaze-like sheen.

Gorgeous and magnificent, yet seemingly carrying a desolate aura of killing intent.

"Quick, close the gap! Don't let those damn things rush in!"

"Left side! The left-side line is broken! Warriors? Where are the warriors? You meatheads, can you hold the line?"

"Damn it, you weaklings who only dare to hide in the back and pew-pew magic, shut up I don't have four hands, I can't keep up!"

Amid chaos and clamor, blood splattered.

After several rounds of magical bombardment, the vast pack of demon hounds finally launched an overwhelming onslaught of flesh and blood.

The densely packed hounds charged, calling to mind those horrifying swarms of bugs from certain fantasy tales.

Even though those qualified to gather here were all prodigies cherished by various factions, under such terrifying numbers they could only barely form a line and hold on by sheer grit.

"This won't do!"

Seville lopped off a hound's head with a single stroke, her face a shade pale.

Not only could these hounds wield magic; most frightening of all, even though divine power had transformed them into living creatures, their bodies still retained metallic qualities.

Her hands were already numb from the endless hacking.

Her magic sword had even sprouted hairline cracks.

At this rate, never mind three minutes—she couldn't last even one more.

"These hounds feel tailor-made to target warriors."

Seville gritted her teeth.

Those hard metal bodies were like tooth-chipping bones for close-combat warriors; no matter how strong your flesh, when you clash head-on with a pile of metal, you always come off a bit softer.

By comparison, the long-range mages were much more composed and useful.

At that thought, Seville trembled with indignation. How did this dump also have things that specifically counter warriors? What's wrong with warriors—can't warriors stand up?

Even brute warriors have basic human rights!

However...

A golden-haired figure flashed through Seville's mind...

He's a warrior too, and so handsome. Though an enemy, though she had to be subordinate to him, but so handsome, so warriors actually...

"Oww..."

While Seville was thinking, a cry of pain sounded beside her, yanking her out of her brief distraction.

She turned to see a man whose face was even paler than her well-maintained complexion, apparently caught by the nearby assault, plopping down on his butt.

"Mage?"

Seville frowned and snapped:

"Why aren't you helping—what are you doing?"

She herself had only fallen back to recover due to recoil from her attacks, but there was no such thing as recoil for mages, and though the hounds' assault had been frightening, it shouldn't have drained one's mana so quickly.

Showing up in this spot—trying to run?

"I... I can't. I have no way."

Sitting on the ground, the man gave a bitter smile and waved a hand:

"My magic has no effect on those damn things."

"No effect?"

Seville blinked, then noticed the badge on his chest.

"School of Illusions?"

"Yes."

The man... Arag nodded with a bitter smile:

"If those things were ordinary magical beasts it would be fine, but they don't even possess the most basic sentience. They operate entirely according to certain procedures. My illusions are of no use at all."

"I see."

Sevier came to a sudden realization, then curled her lip in disdain.

"Even if your magic doesn't work, I don't believe you don't have some trump card hidden away. As a mage of the Tower of Origin, you didn't prepare any backup?"

"I... of course I do, but..."

A bitter look crossed Arag's face; he lowered his head in dejection:

"B-but... no... it won't work. We're finished. This is a trap to begin with. We'll only be trapped and die here. Rather than suffer, we might as well just tear the scroll and teleport out.

Yes... just teleport out."

"You!"

Seville's eyes flared. "Useless! You give up without even trying? And you're supposed to be a genius of the Tower of Origin?"

"Heh... what kind of genius am I? I was beaten in the field I'm best at, I'm useless in a scene like this, I could only watch others get teleported away. What kind of genius does that make me?"

Thinking of the companion who had been ambushed by a hound while protecting him, Arag's eyes were already turning red.

His once-strong confidence had been battered down to almost nothing by the chain of events.

"You..."

Seville spat in disdain and said:

"So what if you were beaten? So what if your teammates got eliminated? You think you're the only one who's been through this?"

Look at her—same story. Her teammates had already been eliminated; she alone remained.

Not only that, she had to swallow the humiliation of following behind the enemy of her academy and her nation!

If not for that man being so handsome... no, wrong—if not for her unwillingness to accept defeat, how would she endure this humiliation?

But she had never given up. One day, she would defeat that big-breasted woman and get her voice-transmission stone frequency... no, wrong—she would win back the face of her academy and her country!

At that thought, hot-blooded pride surged in Seville's chest again, and she couldn't help but roar at the man before her:

"Are you really willing? After going through so much, suffering so much, finally making it here—are you truly willing to give up like this?"

"Willing..."

At her words, Arag froze, then his expression grew complicated.

"Right... am I willing?"

"I'm the hope of reviving the School of Illusions, my teacher's most prized, most pride-inducing student."

"And most importantly, I've given so much to get here."

"I... I..."

He seemed to recall something, squeezed his eyes shut, and his body trembled with it.

To keep moving forward, he'd even been forced to do that kind of thing.

So how could he give up?

Arag opened his eyes; a blazing light kindled in them:

"Right, I can't give up!"

"You've figured it out?"

Seville's eyes lit up.

"That's right, I get it now. I can't give up. I still have a trump card!"

"A trump card?"

"Yes, my ace in the hole!"

Arag sprang up and pulled something from his robe.

"My goddess gave me this trump card!"

Goddess?

Which goddess—was he also a goddess's devotee?

Seville's heart skipped; she couldn't help but cast an expectant look at the thing in Arag's hand.

Then her face abruptly froze.

"This is... what your goddess gave you?"

In that instant, Seville realized this 'goddess' was not a divine being. She turned her neck stiffly and asked.

"Of course."

Arag nodded emphatically, saying with emotion:

"After I confessed to my goddess for the one hundred seventy-fourth time to escape being single, she gave me this. She must have been moved; it represents our love!"

"I was even thinking that as long as I dazzled in this trial, I'd go back and marry my goddess!"

"But there's no helping it. At a time like this, even if it represents our love, I have to use it. Forgive me, my goddess!"

As he spoke, Arag tossed the thing overhead.

Seville watched numbly as the object left Arag's hand, and couldn't help but... let out a curse.

"Are you fucking... sure this is your goddess's love for you?"

She of course recognized the damn thing.

The Heart of Destruction.

A notorious alchemical device traded on the black market—immensely powerful and easy to use, hence exceedingly precious; few could afford to buy one, let alone give it away.

But it was also among the top entries on the contraband lists of every nation.

As for why... the name said it all. Once triggered, it would bring utter destruction to everything nearby.

Friend and foe alike.

Thus it was also notorious as a user-killer, best known for its use in dragging the enemy down with you when you were at the end of your rope.

And that so-called goddess of his had actually given him something like this—the meaning... went without saying.

Damn it—being a simp gets you nothing.

Seville shut her eyes, and then the violent explosion swept over.

...

A few seconds later, Seville, who had barely avoided being wiped out in the first wave, struggled out of the smoke and dust. Looking at the golden-haired figure not far away, her chestful of hot-blooded spirit not yet released, she couldn't help but burst into tears.

"Mr. Moen, we're counting on you."

...

"All right. That will do."

Feeling the gale kicked up by the explosion behind him, Moen looked at the scene not far away of several people jointly suppressing the prisoner, casually snapped his pocket watch shut, and smiled:

"I suppose it's my turn."