Pale yellow flowers, still exuding a refreshing fragrance.

But at this moment, those tender petals were speckled with blood-colored spots, appearing exceedingly uncanny.

Golden Orchid.

After encountering Freya’s inexplicable flower-giving earlier, Moen had looked up this flower.

It is a flower born in the south, in a certain land of eternal spring, and even there it only blooms briefly on the warmest few days.

The flower itself has nothing supernatural about it; it’s simply fragrant and soft-hued, extremely charming.

Yet this delicate, harmless blossom has, in everyone’s eyes, suddenly become a terrifying nightmare.

“Never thought I’d trip up in a place like this.”

Margarita gave a wry smile; in a sense, her Death Contract Writ was abetting the enemy at a time like this.

But compared to that...

Margarita arched her willow brows and cast a sidelong glance:

“Paul, don’t tell me you accepted the flower she gave you too!”

“Haha, how could I? Your Highness, you know me!”

Paul planted his hands on his hips and let out a hearty laugh, then laid his longsword across Margarita’s neck, putting on a wry, helpless smile as he said:

“A refined gentleman like me—how could I possibly refuse something offered by a lady? So, forgive me, Your Highness. Please, you must forgive me.”

From his pocket, a pale yellow flower flecked with blood peeked out impishly.

“...”

This rakish bastard always drops the ball at the crucial moment!

Margarita gnashed her teeth. “You idiot, couldn’t you be a little more alert? Even if she hadn’t shown anything unusual before, Freya and I are rivals!”

“Of course I checked.”

Paul’s face went straight as he said seriously, “I confirmed carefully—those Golden Orchids are just ordinary flowers!”

Margarita was taken aback.

“These flowers are, of course, just ordinary flowers.”

Freya toyed with a bouquet of cool, elegant Golden Orchids, gently inhaled their scent, and said:

“All of you are very capable people. How could I possibly expose a flaw like that?”

“So, compared to the flowers themselves, what matters more is the act of ‘accepting flowers from you,’ that matter or that behavior?” Moen suddenly asked.

Freya cast Moen a beaming glance and did not answer.

“So what are you going to do?”

Margarita sneered. “Like with the others—first make this idiot stab me once?”

“No. If stabbing were the plan, I’d have done it already. You saintess candidates aren’t like everyone else. You are of great use to me. Naturally, I’ll treat you with care, like guests.”

“Since we’re guests...”

Run through at the very first moment, Faye painfully raised one hand, her face twisted in a wail:

“Why did I have to be the one to get stabbed—ugh... it hurts...”

“Because Miss Faye’s mastery of magic is truly daunting—especially your gravity magic. Even in circumstances like this, you could still pose a tremendous threat to me.”

“Fortunately, that Miss Thunderlance’s weapon has a brief anti-magic effect, so I took the opportunity to quiet you a little.”

“...”

Faye’s cherry lips parted in dazed shock, tears shimmering in her eyes.

So, it’s true—the excellent are always singled out?

“All of you are remarkable, but by no means invulnerable.”

Freya gently tugged the chains on her body. Because the caster, Margarita, was currently being controlled by her own knight, Freya didn’t have to exert much force before she broke those chains.

“Margarita’s knight looks rakish, but is in fact a prim-and-proper type who has scarcely held a girl’s hand. After a careful inspection, of course he would accept my flower.”

Paul’s expression froze, radiating the awkward air of having a cringey edgelord diary called out. His eyes moved stiffly, and sure enough, he earned a look of disdain from his own princess.

“Miss Faye’s knight is an excellent adventurer, but not much of a thinker. A few casual lines of patter, and he had no suspicion at all.”

“Tch, if only I’d known during hiring not to value strength alone. Intelligence is a very important thing too!” Faye regretted bitterly.

“As for Miss Anne...”

Everyone’s gazes, at this moment, uncontrollably fell upon Anne—the haughty loli who had, since just now, been uncharacteristically silent.

“Your knight is a war machine manufactured by the Stone Cauldron Association. He only obeys orders, so of course he wouldn’t accept my flower.”

Freya covered her mouth and laughed softly:

“However... Miss Anne, who seems so hard to approach, will happily accept a flower if you just praise her a few more times.”

“...”

In a brief, eerie silence, a pale yellow flower unfurled atop the haughty loli’s head, blooming and swaying with grace.

And as the flower bloomed, Anne bit her lip; her tightly tensed cheeks, bit by bit... flushed crimson.

“...”

“But among all the saintess candidates and their knights, only Mr. Moen and Miss Lea leave me rather at a loss.”

Freya finally drew her gaze back and looked at Moen, who still had his blade pressed tight to her neck.

“Mr. Moen has harbored a strange vigilance against me all along. May I ask why?”

“Instinct.”

“I see. Such an unreasonable thing.”

Freya sighed lightly. “Mr. Moen is so unreasonable, and Miss Lea...”

She paused. “In the days before entering the relic, Miss Lea was either hiding alone in her room, or out shopping with you. I never found a chance to approach her alone.

The two of you have quite the relationship.”

“Ordinary.”

“Heh, ‘ordinary,’ is it?”

Freya’s look grew a touch meaningful. She then tilted her head, as if somewhat uncomfortable with the cold blade that had been pressing against her skin:

“So, is Mr. Moen planning to wait until the Death Contract Writ’s effect ends, then cut me down directly?”

“Who knows?”

Moen’s face was expressionless. “Maybe I won’t need to wait that long. The moment you show any flaw, I’ll end you on the spot.”

“I’m full of openings right now.”

Freya smiled.

“Of course, so is Mr. Moen.”

“Wha...”

Moen’s pupils shrank. A vague sense of crisis surged up in his heart, but he couldn’t find its source.

Just then, he heard a sharp cry:

“Shelter of Holy Light!”

Holy light descended—but it did not fall upon Moen.

Rather... it enveloped Bryan, who had been slumped, half-kneeling at Freya’s feet, and who, since just now, had all but erased his presence.

The radiance of the Shelter of Holy Light encased him, as if isolating something.

“You noticed? As expected, Miss Lea’s insight is as sharp as ever.”

Watching the girl not far away, whose face was grave but whose gaze remained resolute, Freya did not attempt any countermeasure. She merely waved a hand casually:

“Unfortunately, the spores have already spread. There’s no point in anything you do now.”

“Spores? What spo—”

Moen suddenly felt a strange chill seeping inward from the surface of his skin.

What followed was numbness, stiffness, as if frozen in ice, losing control.

And not just him—Moen noticed that those who had been backstabbed by their companions but were merely grievously wounded and not yet eliminated, wore similarly worsening expressions.

“This is...”

Moen’s thoughts raced; in an instant, he locked onto the target:

“Blood? His blood?”

Heat flooded his eyes; his vision snapped into razor clarity, and then he saw—drifting up from the blood seeping out of Bryan’s body were silky red filaments of fungus.

Those filaments floated everywhere, and when they settled on the tender, vivid petals, they formed those blood-colored spots.

So that’s why Freya opened by stabbing her own knight?

She really did sacrifice her teammate as her first move, using this almost imperceptible means of attack?

“Don’t worry. All it does is use toxins in the spores to keep you from moving temporarily. It’s not an attack per se. The loopholes in the death-contract writ aren’t that big, and these ad-hoc things can’t go so far as to control you.”

Freya tilted her head, studying Moen’s face as if savoring his present struggle, and chuckled:

“After all, I can’t control everyone, so I had to go to the trouble of making a two-pronged plan.”

“Well calculated.”

Moen tugged at the corner of his mouth.

If only he could have noticed earlier like Lea...

No—even if he had, it would’ve been useless.

Leaving aside how Bryan’s reduced presence was obviously suspicious, Freya cut off all possibilities of resistance from the start.

Her gifting of flowers was purposeful. Anyone who, even immobilized, could still obstruct her at range without triggering the death-contract writ had already been dealt with at the first instant.

For example, Faye, who could use gravity magic.

For example, Arag, who could use illusion magic.

As for Lea...

“All right, it seems none of you have any means of resistance left.”

Freya pointed a finger, and the holy light barrier around Bryan suddenly collapsed. Being likewise a saintess candidate, she could of course manipulate holy light.

“The amusing make-believe game is over. Would you all be so kind as to withdraw of your own accord?”

Freya looked past Moen at the others.

She clasped her hands over her lower abdomen with elegant poise, a holy smile on her face, like a true saintess incarnate.

“You...”

The ugly bruiser's expression twitched and trembled as he glared hard at Freya:

"We trusted you so much—why? Do you want to eliminate others this way to become the saintess? Do you think the Church will permit this? Even if you were the only one left, you still wouldn't be able to..."

"Even now, you still don't understand?"

Freya pressed a hand to her forehead in vexation: "My goal has never been the position of saintess."

"What?"

The ugly bruiser froze.

"How dense."

Freya sighed again, then said:

"Could I ask you to be a bit more proactive? You should still have the basic ability to move. If you don't hurry, some unpleasant things will happen."

"Unpleasant things?"

The ugly bruiser suddenly seemed to sense something and jerked his head down.

At his wound, the granulation tissue that had been rapidly regenerating thanks to a warrior's powerful body began to squirm visibly, like little tentacles, as if endowed with minds of their own, twisting and extending in different directions.

"So ordinary people will be corrupted quickly, after all?"

"Corruption?"

The ugly bruiser's face instantly turned to terror, and he roared at Freya in anger:

"You? It was you? You actually... actually... Are you insane? The Church won't spare you. As a saintess candidate, to do something like this—the Church will definitely tie you to the stake and have you..."

"Ah, ah, no need to go on. I've known that sort of thing for a long time."

Freya reached out, fished a teleportation scroll from the ugly bruiser's chest, and gave it a hard squeeze; as a faint light flashed, the enraged bruiser vanished where he stood.

"What a long-winded man."

Freya then looked to the others: "Do you need me to help you as well?"

Everyone looked at one another; with the ugly bruiser's miserable state before their eyes, they no longer dared hesitate. One after another they activated their teleportation scrolls, choosing to forfeit voluntarily.

Soon, where it had been quite lively, only a handful of people remained.

Freya returned to stand before Moen. Even after watching so many people be eliminated, the gentle smile on her face did not change in the slightest.

"At last, it's Mr. Moen. You're truly dangerous, so may I ask you to leave as well? Don't worry—your little saintess, I'll be sure to take good care of her."

"Sounds like a bull stealing the line that belongs to a blond punk like me," Moen sneered.

"A bull?"

"It's fine—just pretend you didn't hear that. But before that, may I ask you a question?"

Moen let his smile fade.

"Of course. Go ahead."

"These bizarre methods, and that familiar old schemer's reek..."

Looking into Freya's eyes, Moen asked seriously:

"Miss Freya, could it be that you are... a follower of the Goddess of Love?"

"The Goddess of Love?"

For the first time, Freya showed a trace of bewilderment before Moen.

But very quickly, that trace of bewilderment melted into the faint curve of her lips:

"As expected of Mr. Moen. To think that so quickly... you've guessed half of it right."