"Ah... Goddess... please forgive... forgive the sinner..."

In the wake of the thunderous boom, the entire space suddenly fell silent.

And so that mournful wail became especially clear.

Like the sobbing at the soul’s final destination, like the keening that endures countless torments, like... across the long years, that hopeless, deathly still, hoarse song.

In that hoarse song, on that emaciated body, those tadpole-like golden patterns shone brighter than ever before.

As if unwilling to endure oppression, and so... revolt!

Creaking and grinding.

The prisoner, suppressed under the dual pressure of gravity magic and shadow magic, let out the shrill grinding of bones and joints, and under the solemn gazes of all present, once again straightened up bit by bit.

The hand lantern swayed, the flame flickered; from the eyes scorched blind by boiling mercury, inky blood-tears still flowed.

The foul miasmic wind stirred his tattered robes, and a terrifying power like a volcanic eruption burst forth!

Clang—

The prisoner’s withered body shuddered; Paul’s hands trembled, feeling a powerful recoil surge up from his palms, almost making him lose his grip on the hilt.

"So it really wasn’t going to be that easy to pin this damned thing down?"

Paul, rarely, put away his flippant expression; his face darkened.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that not only he, but even the adventurer Thunder Spear who had attacked alongside him, as well as the oddball Reta, had been forced to give a slight step back under the prisoner’s forceful counterattack.

A slight retreat seemed trivial, but those who had just joined forces to strike were by no means simple figures.

In the Adventurers’ Association, the mysterious woman famous far and wide, known only by the title Thunder Spear.

The Stone Cauldron Association’s painstakingly crafted war monster, Reta.

In the Tower of Origin, the mage Faye, held in high esteem; even if she failed to seize the seat of saintess, she could return to continue studying advanced magic.

That widely renowned saintess candidate, Freya, and by her side the likewise not-to-be-overlooked divine attendant knight who, according to intelligence, was a powerful martial artist yet could actually wield the exceedingly rare shadow magic.

And himself, heir to the Sword King.

Under the combined onslaught of all five, the withered prisoner before them, who looked like a bundle of sticks that a mere gust could topple, had only been briefly suppressed.

But such suppression was still far from enough.

If they wanted to reach the point where this wretch could be safely purified, they had to render him completely unable to resist and unable to move.

Yet to render a person entirely unable to resist or to move was, in a certain sense, harder than killing him outright.

Perhaps that was the reason for refining him into an alchemical item.

"This won’t do."

Watching her own knight get slightly humbled, seeing the prisoner still with room to fight back, Margarita’s gaze flickered.

"You mean they can’t keep him down?"

Anne’s face was likewise overcast. She hadn’t struck directly, because Reta required a degree of her direct control to unleash maximum combat power in a short time.

"No, they can hold him, but that’s not the problem."

Margarita spoke.

Although they had been forced back for the moment, it was only a pushback.

The prisoner, refined into an alchemical item, possessed terrifying toughness—impervious to steel and spell alike—but for that very reason, he had little in the way of offensive means.

So from the start, he had only been resisting one-sidedly.

Such resistance would inevitably be futile; in both her own knight and the other opponents not to be underestimated, Margarita had great confidence.

But the only problem is...

"Time... seems to be running a bit short."

Margarita let out a light sigh.

They had moved quickly; from making their move to the initial suppression had taken only ten seconds.

But the degree of the prisoner’s resistance exceeded her expectations.

At this rate, to suppress the prisoner completely again would probably take at least about a minute.

One minute...

Margarita glanced from the corner of her eye; the corner of her mouth twitched.

It should have been in time, but some idiot actually tossed out a Heart of Destruction, that indiscriminate thing.

While sending a large number of demon hounds sky-high, it also breached their own defensive line.

The hordes of demon hounds could be replenished in time, but how could they spare anyone here to shore up the line?

So in less than half a minute, those demon hounds would probably be right upon them.

Truly, a nuisance.

...

"Looks like it’s my cue to act."

Watching the scene in the field, Moen put away his pocket watch, the corner of his mouth drawing up in a hint of delight.

Things looked not so good.

However, it only looked that way; with those people’s abilities, it was still far from a point that could be called hopeless.

After all, those saintess candidates hadn’t truly made their moves yet.

But...

"I was the one who told everyone to bring out their real skills; I can’t just stand here watching, can I?"

Then I’ll rush in and hack twice at random, put on a show and slack off a bit.

No need to waste too much effort in a place like this...

"Hm?"

At that moment, Moen turned, looked at Lea, and asked in puzzlement:

"What’s wrong?"

"Um..."

Lea, who had again reached out to tug the hem of Moen’s clothes, bit her rosy cherry lips; an adorably hesitant expression appeared on her little face as she stammered:

"Moen, just now, you deliberately gave me the spotlight, didn’t you."

"Weren’t you the one who stepped forward on your own?" Moen smiled.

"No, if it weren’t for Moen..."

Lea shook her head hard, then said:

"S-so... I also want to see Moen’s dazzling side."

"Hm?"

Moen froze. "Why?"

"Because... the things they said about Moen before—though I didn’t say anything, actually... I was very unhappy." Lea said earnestly.

Moen quickly realized she meant the stuff about others calling him a pushover, a soft pretty boy.

So Lea had gotten angry over such a little thing.

For some reason, Moen suddenly felt a bit happy.

"Are you sure?"

Moen looked into Lea’s eyes and asked seriously.

"Mm!"

Lea met his gaze without the slightest timidity, straightening her back at the same time.

"Before, I might not have liked it—might even have been a little scared—but now... I’m strong, so..."

I want everyone to know that my knight is the strongest.

"I see."

Moen did not ask what it was she hadn’t liked before, or what she had feared; he simply looked at her quietly.

He suddenly felt like pulling this girl—frail in appearance but strong at heart, and most importantly the cutest in the world—into a fierce embrace.

But he did not pull her into his arms.

He only took her cute little hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.

"As you wish, my Highness."

He said:

"In five seconds, I will bring you victory."

...

"Since that’s the case, why is that damn blondie still not making a move?"

Anne arched a brow and said coldly, seeming still to bear a grudge over Moen calling her a damned ironing board earlier:

"He’s the one who told people to bring out their real skills, and now he’s just watching from the sidelines?"

"Or is it because he knows even if he steps in it won’t help?"

Margarita’s face was expressionless.

Right now they did indeed need that last straw to break the camel’s back.

But to topple it in a short time...

Margarita thought back to Moen’s way of striking just now... He seemed, like Paul, to be of the speed-and-technique type.

Although his blades looked peculiar, when it came to suppressing an enemy, they didn’t seem able to make much difference in a short span.

Faced with an alchemical item as foul and as hard as a rock, no amount of finesse would help much... which was also why Paul had just been forced back in defeat.

"Then what should we do? Time is limited—just stand here and watch?"

"It’s better to say less of that sort of thing."

Margarita turned her head, half-smiling:

"You don’t seem to have gotten serious yet."

"The same to you."

Anne folded her arms, gave a cold, meaningful smile.

The two exchanged a look; as if suddenly sharing a tacit understanding, they stepped forward at the same time.

At that moment, the same scene surfaced in both their minds by coincidence: Lea earlier, in the gaze of the multitude, turning the tide and opening the gate.

"As fellow saintess candidates, we can’t let her be the only one to steal the spotlight."

The two stepped forward again, a confident gleam flashing in their eyes...

"Whoa~"

But suddenly, they heard a casual, flippant whistle sound.

A golden-haired figure swept quickly past them, glancing at a certain part of them.

"Four aces? Coming out that big?"

The golden-haired figure, twin blades in hand, vanished swiftly, leaving behind only a line that left them bewildered in the wind:

"But sorry, I crush."