"In short, it's not the time to jump to conclusions yet; we'd better investigate cautiously first."

Margarita's cold voice cut off Moen's thoughts.

Moen nodded silently, ignoring the hint of malice in her words, and temporarily put away the scattered thoughts that were of no use at the moment.

They had only just entered this area; any hypothesis was based on imperfect fragments of clues, and haphazard speculation would only lead into cognitive traps.

And in this eerie and unfamiliar region, a cognitive trap could be fatal.

"Damn it, never mind outside, why is it still like this here? Where are the ancient relics? The historical documents? Treasures that can fetch a good price? There's nothing but some disgusting flesh. Could it be that we've been deceived by the Church? In the Church's eyes, are we just tools used to open doors?"

Muttering curses, Seville came up beside Moen. In this world full of lies and filth, only the handsome guy at her side could bring her a trace of warmth.

Behind her was Arag, who had followed in silence.

Because of that jaw-droppingly disastrous stunt earlier, he was now collectively shunned by the mages' group; until he introduced some girls to that bunch of shut-in nerds who spent every day studying magic and had never even held a girl's hand, he probably wouldn't be forgiven.

Hmph, a bunch of single losers; unlike me—just thinking of my beloved goddess warms my chest, as if boundless power erupts. To shine brilliantly like this and revitalize the entire Illusion school shouldn't be any hard task.

Arag grumbled inwardly.

Moen glanced at Arag and said nothing more.

Although he had previously kept leverage on him with the thought that, if there were fights with others later, he could hide his identity and play an unexpected role,

but as things had developed to this point, after the battle just now and with the death-contract writ still in effect, these people who originally couldn't stand each other no longer had the urge to fight.

This might be the most peaceful and united Sanctification ceremony ever.

The former saintesses who had stepped up over others' corpses would probably be so jealous at the current scene that they'd be brought to tears.

But from another angle, competition in certain aspects might become even more intense.

"Mysteries, one after another—enough to make one's head spin."

Moen looked around. After the initial shock, basically everyone's emotions had settled.

The two upperclasswomen, Fannie and Vicky, also didn't seem injured; they'd simply overexerted themselves earlier and were still relying on magic crystals to restore their mana.

"Right, speaking of the death-contract writ..."

Moen looked at Margarita:

"How much longer will the Death Contract Writ last?"

"I didn't know how long opening the door would take, so to be safe I set it for five hours," Margarita replied.

"Five hours..."

Moen took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. "Four hours left?"

"Yes."

Time was fairly ample.

"In that case..."

Moen clapped his hands to draw everyone's attention:

"For the time being, to be safe, let's join forces and explore together."

With the death-contract writ still in effect, there was no need to worry about anyone stirring trouble, and facing this bizarre scene before them, exploring together for now was the best choice.

After all, in the horror films of his past life, splitting up was often the beginning of a total party wipe.

"This..."

Everyone looked at each other, pondering Moen's suggestion.

Team up to explore?

What a joke—among these bastards around them there was even that son of a bitch who had taken advantage of the dark to sneak-attack her butt; if they teamed up...

But thinking it over, teaming up didn't seem entirely unacceptable.

After all, they'd already joined forces once.

As it turned out, once you'd had the first time, going for a second round went much more smoothly.

At least this time, basically no one objected, and after a brief exchange of views they settled on the operating plan for the next four hours.

"Fine."

Margarita nodded. "This is indeed the best choice for now."

"Hmph."

Anne snorted coldly, lifting her proud head high, but said nothing more.

And Faye, who hadn't spoken for a long while, yawned lazily, cupped her ample bosom second only to Lea's, and threw Moen a flirtatious glance:

"Then you must protect me well afterward, Mr. Moen~"

"..."

He couldn't shake the feeling that this woman always had some peculiar expectations of him.

Moen's mouth twitched; sensing the faint chill rising beside him, he decided not to answer.

Instead, he looked to the side:

"And you?"

"Hee-hee, Mr. Moen already looks like a leader now. Naturally, I'll listen to you."

Freya covered her mouth and laughed softly, a rare hint of girlish playfulness appearing.

But Moen remained expressionless.

"Such empty talk, Miss Freya, is better left unsaid."

Out of the corner of his eye, Moen glanced over Freya's surroundings.

Not much time had passed since successfully dealing with the Prisoner.

Yet people were already faintly gathering around Freya again.

Among them was even that ugly hunk down in the pit earlier who, just because Moen was surrounded by girls, had flown into a jealous rage and charged.

He had somehow procured a tight white formal outfit, with a bouquet of pale yellow flowers pinned to the chest—positively the picture of a gallant protector of flowers—and looked extremely gaudy and sleazy.

"As expected of Freya..."

By virtue of curing the plague in the southern realm and saving tens of millions, and with a temperament closest to that of the current saintess, she was the candidate with the greatest renown and the most anticipation.

She didn't even need to speak; a crowd of supporters would gather around her on their own.

"But certain auras on her still make me dislike her."

Moen kneaded his brow and paid Freya no further heed.

In any case, with the death-contract writ in place, these four hours were a rare opportunity to focus entirely on this bizarre realm.

There was no need to worry about competition from others, and the irreconcilable conflicts between the saintess candidates could likely be postponed until after they uncovered this world's truth.

"Let's go."

Moen said to Lea beside him:

"At present, what most needs exploring is that distant tower. Unfortunately, strange blood-mist drifts there, and it's hard to see..."

Moen, taking Lea with him, took the first steps forward.

But just then, he suddenly heard Freya's voice:

"The moon... has come out."

Hm?

The moon?

Moen froze for a moment, glanced back at Freya, and found she was still standing where she was, head lifted, gazing up at the sky.

Moen also looked up at the sky by reflex.

Then his pupils abruptly contracted.

Because at that moment, upon the blood-hued firmament, there truly was... a bright, shining moon hanging.

"This is..."

The moon from outside at night earlier?

But why would it suddenly appear here? By the timing, it shouldn't be night now.

Could it be...

In an instant, it was as if a single thread had appeared, about to weave together all the conjectures in Moen's mind.

But before that thread could tie everything together, he heard Freya's regretful sigh:

"It seems there's no time to keep playing this exploration game."

"No time?"

No time for what?

Moreover, from her tone, had she known the moon would appear at this very moment?

Vaguely, an ominous premonition began to fill Moen's heart.

So he jerked his gaze downward to the source of that premonition—the saintess candidate whose behavior had suddenly turned strange.

Freya.

Freya met Moen's eyes and only smiled faintly.

That smile was still holy and gentle, with no flaw to be seen, like a warm spring breeze upon the face.

She called softly:

"Bryan."

"Here."

A pallid-faced man emerged from the shadows.

"Come here."

"Yes."

Bryan approached Freya.

The next moment, under the shocked and puzzled gazes of all, Freya unhurriedly drew a dagger, let its tip glide lightly across her fingertip as if testing its sharpness,

and then, right after, she drove that razor-sharp dagger... into her own knight's body.

Slish.

Blood sprayed.

In that instant, everyone watching—Moen, Lea, the other saintess candidates, and even Freya's supporters—couldn't help but feel utterly confused.

What on earth is she doing?