"Half?"

Moen asked, "What do you mean by half?"

"Giggle~ I can't say that, because the answer is actually kind of embarrassing." Freya covered her mouth with a soft laugh.

"Tsk."

Expressionless, Moen said, "Do you know the two kinds of people I hate most?"

"Oh? Which two?"

"One is the riddle-monger who speaks only half of what they mean, and the other..."

"The other?"

"..."

In the strangely awkward silence, the two looked at each other—they exchanged puzzled glances.

Freya was stunned for a few moments before she understood what Moen meant. Yet though she had clearly been teased, she showed none of the annoyance of someone toyed with; even the curve at the corner of her lips did not change in the slightest.

"Mr. Moen, you really are amusing. What a pity—regardless, I still have no choice but to ask Mr. Moen to leave this The Lost Land first."

"So afraid of me? Truly worthy of being a follower of that Love God." Moen sneered.

"Afraid? Hardly. I just don't want you to mess up my plans. And... an oracle personally issued by that One says you absolutely cannot be allowed, together with any saintess candidate, to reach the bottom of that tower."

"An oracle personally issued?" Moen's brows furrowed slightly.

"In short, Mr. Moen, you can give up on the idea of stalling until the Death Contract Writ's effect expires. Besides, right now you can't even move, can you? Being so close to me, you should be the one who inhaled the most spores."

Freya's brows arched; as if suddenly remembering, she said:

"Ah, how forgetful of me—I'd nearly forgotten. Mr. Moen can't move right now. It seems I'll have to help you myself."

Freya reached out a small, white, slender hand toward Moen's chest.

"Mr. Moen, please tell me where you put the teleportation scroll. Otherwise, if I end up doing something indecent, your saintess will get angry, you know."

"..."

Moen did not respond to Freya's teasing; he simply watched her silently.

Only when her hand was about to touch his chest did Moen suddenly say:

"You seem to know me quite well?"

"Hmm?"

Freya froze, apparently not expecting Moen to ask such a question.

"Sort of. I did collect a lot of intel on Mr. Moen. After all, I have quite a wide network. But unlike others, I don't believe the false intel that Mr. Moen is two-timing and three-timing, a useless playboy."

"..."

No—some of that is actually true.

"Of course, part of the intel was given to me by that One as well," Freya continued.

I see...

Understanding dawned on Moen.

No wonder the information I show on the surface shouldn't, under any circumstances, have attracted such undue attention.

And from the very beginning, Freya had shown a different kind of concern for me.

That old dog of a Love God, thinking about me this much—how flattering.

It's a pity I couldn't have a proper chat with Him back in the Deathbane Forest.

Moen tugged at the corner of his mouth in a mocking smile:

"But I think, Miss Freya, you still don't know me well enough."

"Hmm?"

"Because if you really knew me inside and out, you'd understand that..."

Moen's gaze hardened. He suddenly shot out a hand and clamped Freya's wrist in a tight grip:

"I am not afraid of poison, nor of any abnormal status."

Scarlet firelight surfaced in the depths of his lake-deep blue eyes.

At the same time, barely perceptible arcs of electricity skittered playfully across his skin.

Crimson flame, plus the Alchemy Domain.

In this state, he could even somewhat resist contamination personally inflicted by the Dark God, let alone mere toxic spores.

"Did you really think I would approach you without any vigilance?"

A flash of astonishment crossed Freya's eyes, and then the world seemed to spin.

Moen seized her wrist with one hand, clamped her neck with the other, twisted his body, and slammed Freya to the ground.

His knee pressed directly into Freya's abdomen. This saintess candidate, always so graceful and serene, looked so delicate at this moment.

"Lady Freya!"

At the side, Bryan cried out in furious shock. Even though he was already so weak that he could barely stand, pitch-black mire still surged rapidly toward Moen.

"Bryan!"

Pinned to the ground, Freya shouted with difficulty:

"Stand down!"

"But..."

"He can't harm me. Stand down!"

The shadow-mire receded, and Bryan locked a death glare on Moen, murderous intent bristling.

Moen didn't even spare him a glance, merely lowering his head to meet Freya's eyes.

After a brief moment of surprise, the clear eyes of the girl were still as calm as ever.

"Ahem, what's the point, Mr. Moen? You can't kill me."

Freya coughed twice with difficulty, slightly short of breath:

"Not only can you not kill me, you also can't lift the control on anyone else. Even if you restrain me, it's meaningless."

Zing—

A sword hummed.

Paul's face twisted, as if he were struggling against something, but his body still moved uncontrollably toward Moen.

"Sorry, brother."

Paul raised his longsword with a wry smile:

"Consider me in your debt."

Meanwhile, on the other side, a certain proud lolicon's face turned bright red, but as the little flower on his head swayed ever more cheerfully, he ultimately couldn't control himself. His tightly closed lips parted, and he forced out a few words:

"Go, Reta."

"Roar!"

Reta, who only obeyed orders and had no idea what state his master was in, also closed in on Moen.

Killing intent advanced.

"See, Mr. Moen? Everything you're doing right now is meaningless."

Freya smiled. "So what if you're unaffected by the spores? So what if you've restrained me? You still can't solve the fundamental problem."

"..."

Moen lowered his eyes in silence.

The Death Contract Writ.

The control placed on the others.

The spores.

Yes—these key issues, he couldn't solve a single one right now.

Even the incoming assault by the two divine attendant knights—though he did not fear them—he would be constrained by the Death Contract Writ, while they would not.

For him, the situation before his eyes seemed to be yet another dead end.

Freya looked at him with pity. "Think it over, Mr. Moen. You have nowhere left to go."

"..."

Is there really nowhere to go?

No—actually, not quite.

Eliminating all impossibilities, there was still one path left to him.

That one... last path.

Moen let go of Freya, slowly rose, steadied his breath, and, with an exceptionally grave expression, said in a deep voice:

"It seems I once again have no choice... but to use my trump card."

"Trump card?"

"Trump card?"

"Trump card!"

Freya's brows lifted slightly.

Margarita and Anne were stunned.

Faye's eyes lit up, bright with expectation as she fixed on Moen.

Only Lea blinked her big eyes, glanced at Moen's deadly serious face, then forcibly turned her stiff body away and quietly covered her eyes.

"Yes. My trump card."

Moen raised his hand. In an instant, all the mana in his body gathered into his palm.

"Are you crazy? You know attacks are useless..."

"This isn't an attack, this is..."

Moen's tightly clenched hand gradually opened. At that moment, what burst out was not powerful magic, but...

"Super-Ultimate Works-Every-Time Demon-Piercing Light-Kill—Lighting Spell 3.0!"

Light.

Endless light.

Brighter than the sun. Brighter than everything.

In an instant, it washed everything around them into pure white.

And amid the many baffled faces bathed in that radiance, Moen deftly put on the extra-thick sunglasses he had long since prepared, turned, scooped up the likewise prepped Lea with one arm, and with the other... after a sweep of the surroundings, he realized that that guy Arag actually hadn't been eliminated; he seemed to have slipped by with an illusion and was hiding right next to Lea.

So he grabbed him too, and beat a hasty retreat.

Since no method could break this hopeless situation, the only option was a tactical withdrawal.

Only an idiot would stick around and butt heads.

And in this respect, he, Moen Campbell, has never been inferior to anyone in his life.

...

Moen fled at top speed, and only at the instant the light was about to fade did he reflexively look back.

"Hmm?"

The scene in the distance that met his eyes made him pause for a moment as well.

Freya.

For the first time, he saw such a look of shock on the face of that girl who seemed to wear a holy smile forever.

She had not avoided that blinding light. Instead, she spread her arms and stood in front of that pallid-faced knight.

With her slight, frail body, she cast a gentle shadow for her knight amid the endless brilliance.

"That girl..."

...

"So this is what you call a trump card?"

Completely unprepared, Anne and Margarita had their faces blasted by that limit-breaking Lighting Spell. Tears streamed down their cheeks; they were so mad their chests were about to explode.

One had been paralyzed by the spores' toxin; the other was not only paralyzed but controlled. Both were delicate mages to begin with. Although by instinct they shut their eyes in that split second,

their thin eyelids simply couldn't completely block that light.

Their eyes still burned hotly now.

And the most infuriating thing was that bastard ran off without taking them along!

Of course, that was just venting. They knew Moen couldn't possibly take too many people with him in a situation like that.

"Mr. Moen always manages to surprise me," Freya said.

Freya took out a handkerchief to wipe her tears, and looked in the direction Moen had fled. In the blood mist, the tower stood tall. It took a long time for her blurry vision to gradually clear.

"I didn't expect it—you actually managed to escape," she sighed regretfully.

"But never mind. Even if only four saintess candidates are left, it's enough."

As she was speaking, she suddenly heard a pop.

Everyone instinctively turned toward the sound and saw that Faye, who had been clutching her stomach and groaning just now, had deflated...

Deflated...

Like certain wives who, unable to bear the pressure, perish on the bed.

"Heh heh..."

After a brief moment of shock and silence, Margarita looked at Freya teasingly:

"Now there are only three."

"Pfft." Anne even laughed mercilessly.

"...Miss Faye is quite a surprise too."

Freya's cheek twitched imperceptibly.

"But in fact, three will just barely do; it just means I'll have to trouble you two to work a bit harder."

Margarita and Anne, who had been gloating, instantly froze, their little faces going stiff.

"The spores' paralysis has been lifted. Let's go."

Freya turned and headed off in another direction.

"Wait."

Margarita suddenly called out to stop her:

"Aren't you going to chase MoenCampbell?"

"Chase?"

Without even turning her head, Freya said, "Do you think, at the fleeing speed Mr. Moen just displayed, I could catch up? Heh heh, I won't waste my time on such a futile effort. I have proper business to attend to."

"Is that... so?"

Margarita fell into thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

Because they had to move forward, Anne finally regained a bit of control over her body; she leaned in and asked quietly.

Margarita glanced at the cute flower atop Anne's head, swaying back and forth, and said:

"I'm reviewing, putting myself in someone else's shoes."

"Putting yourself in someone else's shoes?"

"Yes. I'm thinking, if I were Freya... Forget it; it's only speculation. For captives like us, at others' mercy, it's worthless."

After sending Anne away, as they walked along, Margarita looked at Freya's back and suddenly murmured under her breath:

"I can't shake off the feeling... something's off."