"I never thought... it would be you... Arag!"

At the top of the hill, amid a multitude of blooming flowers, a man in a mage’s robe with the emblem of the School of Illusions hanging on his chest looked down at the two below his feet, wearing an inscrutable, peculiar smile.

"I didn’t expect it either, Moen Campbell..."

Arag twisted his neck and said:

"That I’d be trying to kill you for the third time."

"The third time..."

Moen murmured. Lea, in his arms, also couldn’t help showing a slightly guileless look of surprise, her lovely cherry lips parting.

The first time was outside the town.

The second time... was that accident back then?

Pulling out the Eye of Destruction wasn’t some simp’s daily deranged fit, but deliberate?

No—if it was deliberate, how did he fool the Death Contract Deed...

"I see. To be honest, when Freya said that, the first one I suspected was Faye—I didn’t even think of you... But thinking it over, along the way you really did give off all sorts of abnormal signs.

"And I ignored all those abnormalities."

"So..."

Moen considered for a moment, then his gaze tightened slightly. "Was it because of illusions?"

"Smart. No wonder you’re the one the great Deity personally ordered me to kill."

Arag bowed with gentlemanly courtesy, yet the smile on his face grew ever more exaggerated—completely different from the Arag Moen once knew.

"Actually, the first time was just a probe. After all, there were eyes on us then; I didn’t dare do anything truly bad."

"And then you realized my strength exceeded your expectations?"

"Exactly, so I changed my approach and chose to lie low and look for an opportunity."

Arag said:

"And in order to lie low better, I used the most basic—and also the most complex—application of illusions... suggestion."

"Suggestion?"

"Yes. Back then, I deliberately accepted your humiliating condition and subordinate to you precisely to plant in you the suggestion that I’m very weak, bound by you, and absolutely harmless to you."

"I even..."

Memories surged up; Arag’s gaze turned vicious. "Me putting on women’s clothes was also to deepen that suggestion!"

"...Heh. No wonder after that—whether it was you using illusions on me in the passage, or almost getting everyone killed—I didn’t suspect you in the slightest... Because when people look for threats, they subconsciously rule out those weaker than themselves."

Moen sneered, mocking: "Still, you really know how to sacrifice. You were quite tempting back then—if that were made public, it would surely draw a lot of fans."

"For the sake of the Deity, any sacrifice is worth it."

Arag reined in his ferocity and smiled again. "So after that, I even placed a suggestion on myself... Thus, at that time, I truly was just an Arag whose heart contained only my most beloved goddess and the promotion of the School of Illusions."

"So that’s how you bypassed the Death Contract Deed? Impressive."

Moen couldn’t help a soft sigh.

That thing really screwed people like us over—practically a textbook artifact that traps the upright and not the scoundrels.

"Naturally. Didn’t I say? In the matter of disguising oneself, illusion magic that can interfere with thought is the strongest."

"Unfortunately..."

Arag’s feral grin cut off. He clawed at his own hair, his bloodshot eyes filled with barely hidden rage:

"I could have hidden at your side and, at the crucial moment, given you a fatal blow, but... that bitch Freya actually betrayed... actually betrayed!

Because of her betrayal, the plan was thrown into chaos. Otherwise... otherwise..."

"That wasn’t betrayal!"

Moen retorted in a deep voice: "Freya has never strayed from what she believes in!"

"What she believes in? You mean the love she believes in? No—that isn’t love! That false, profitless thing that leaves only pain—that isn’t love!"

"True love... is this!"

Arag raved, laughed, and flailed wildly... He reached out and ripped open his own chest.

"What you cherish, of course you must place with utmost care in the deepest part of your heart!"

Flesh was torn open alive, revealing scarlet fascia and pale bone.

But inside that chest cavity, there wasn’t a beating heart.

There was a head.

A long-haired girl’s head, blood-drenched.

The head was set into Arag’s chest cavity, replacing his heart, her face smeared with blood.

As if she had undergone too long a darkness, those dazed, lifeless, numb eyes slowly opened, tears mixed with blood trickling down.

The innocent girl parted her parched lips and whispered:

"I... love you."

As if gazing upon her beloved, her face was filled with happiness.

I love you.

"..."

The atmosphere froze in an instant.

Certain memories surfaced from the depths of the mind, tugging at the nerves.

"What... is that?"

The girl in his arms went pale and cried out, badly frightened by the horrific scene before her.

But immediately after, she let out a cry of pain, for she suddenly realized that the body of the man holding her had gone hard as steel.

"Moen..."

"Ah, sorry—I hurt you."

Moen lowered his head apologetically; due to a surge of emotion, his body had tensed unconsciously, and now it relaxed a little.

Yet as the girl looked at him, she could still see, in his impassive face and in the lake-deep azure of his eyes, something burning with fury.

"Sorry, Lea—could I ask you to go on ahead?" Moen suddenly said.

"Eh? Go on ahead? At a time like this?"

"Mm. Arag revealing himself now is obviously to stall for time, so the best choice is for you to go on ahead."

"But..."

The enemy looks terrifying—if I leave now, isn’t that...

Lea almost said that, but swallowed the words.

She looked at Moen—looked at his face—as if sensing something. Suddenly she stopped trying to dissuade him, and instead put her arms around Moen’s neck and hugged him tightly.

"Then I’ll leave it to you."

"Mm. Leave it to me."

"Here—this is for you."

"What’s this?"

Moen looked at the pitch-black iron plate in his hand and felt it faintly familiar.

"This is something I made with the materials you sold me. It can dispel magic—of course, it’s effective against illusions too."

Lea said proudly, "Pretty great, right?"

"Mm. Amazing—huge help."

Moen couldn’t help but hug the girl even tighter.

"Be careful."

"I will."

They shared each other’s warmth, deeply reluctant to part, but it was destined to be brief.

While Arag was still over there shouting, "This is love," and raving, the two moved quickly.

The platform from before had been blown apart by magic, and the cave had instead been revealed more clearly, just a little way below them.

Moen gave Lea’s small hand a light swing, and Lea nimbly leapt into the cave.

"By the way, Lea."

At the instant Lea was about to leave, Moen suddenly called to her:

"So far, although we have some guesses, we still aren’t sure what exactly is down there. There might be dangers, so..."

Moen looked into Lea’s eyes and said earnestly:

"If you encounter anything you can’t resolve, you must wait for me. I... your knight... will very soon—very soon—come to your side."

"Mm!"

Hearing this, Lea nodded vigorously and showed a smile more beautiful than the Sea of Flowers:

"I will, my knight!"

...

...

A breeze from who knows where disturbed the blood mist, brushed over the Sea of Flowers, and brought a faint bloody scent along with a hint of stench.

Moen leapt onto a protruding rock on the cliff face and slowly turned.

Arag also stopped his praise of true love and, carefully and reverently, closed his chest back up, once more becoming that ordinary prodigy who wanted to promote the School of Illusions.

"Done saying your goodbyes? To send off an important combat strength on your side—you really are arrogant," Arag said, shaking his head.

"And you—you didn’t stop Lea?" Moen narrowed his eyes.

"Heh heh, it’s fine. After I take care of you, I’ll take care of her too—there’s still time."

"In terms of arrogance, you’re not far behind."

Moen drew Elizabeth. The pure-white blade hummed, as if sensing its master’s current mood.

"So..."

Moen suddenly looked aside. "How is Faye?"

On the rock wall carpeted with the Sea of Flowers, a girl stood as if ignoring gravity, slim and straight. Bright blossoms clustered and grew on her in masses, like a colorful long dress.

Only that half-lifeless face, twitching from time to time, revealed her current pain and struggle.

Her movements were strange, like a marionette on strings.

"Who knows?"

Arag smiled. "Being chosen by the Deity’s power should be her honor, shouldn’t it? But I should thank you, too. If not for your trust in me, I wouldn’t have so easily let Miss Faye experience the Deity’s gracious favor."

"..."

"Come now, don’t be angry..."

Seeing Moen’s face turn cold at once, Arag offered a considerate reassurance:

"Rest assured, the Deity values these saintess candidates extremely highly. So even after the betrayal just now, the Deity will certainly... treat her well.

Of course...

That includes your saintess candidate."

"..."

In that instant,

Moen lifted his eyes, casting his gaze toward Arag—yet he wasn’t looking at him, but seemed to be staring through him at something behind.

Everything had gathered to a head.

The long-suppressed blaze of fury finally erupted like a volcano, becoming a heartfelt greeting to an old acquaintance long overdue:

"Fuck your mother, Goddess of Love!"

Killing intent... burst forth!

The breeze began to howl, turning into a razor-edged whirlwind that transformed countless tender flowers into withering petals.

Like a marionette, Faye suddenly, stiffly raised a finger and pointed lightly toward Moen's position.

Magic surged; without even needing a chant, the ground split in an instant, and gravity dozens of times stronger were applied here in a flash!

But... there was no figure there anymore.

Faye's finger darted again, carving one huge dent after another into the sheer rock face, yet still couldn't catch even the hem of that wraithlike shadow.

In the moonlit world, a brilliance far outshining the moon suddenly blossomed.

Blade-light, like a silken stream.

Arag hadn't even had time to make any further response when a figure like a fiend had already appeared before him.

Not even a single breath had passed.

The holy light barrier Faye had preemptively placed before him was torn open in an instant by a pure-white sacred artifact. Moen twisted, closing in, and as astonishment appeared on Arag's face, the two blades had already struck—one stabbed into his neck, and one... into his forehead.

Blood spurted as Moen drove a knee forward, pinning Arag beneath him.

And because of this close-quarters posture, Faye could no longer use any magic, and, as if in standby, ceased all movement.

"Is this what you call divine favor?"

Moen pressed the blades down and said coldly:

"Have the Love God come out! They definitely have a projected avatar on you, don't they!"

"Cough, cough..."

Even with wounds lethal enough to kill an ordinary person ten times over, Arag still wore a smile; it was only that, with his throat pierced through, speaking was difficult:

"...No wonder you're the dangerous man even the gods are wary of—you're truly formidable... If it were the old me, before you, I'd surely have been instantly killed, no question."

"Cut the crap."

Moen had no intention of exchanging more pointless words with Arag.

That even a pierced vital point wouldn't kill him was within his expectations; he'd seen it too many times to be anything but numb to it.

Therefore...

"Since they won't come out, I'll just burn you from the inside out."

Crimson, starry motes of flame gradually lit in Moen's pupils. He fixed his gaze on Arag, and so, in Arag's pupils as well, crimson firelight steadily brightened.

It was flame from the dark god, the King of Wither, burning the soul.

But.

Even with his soul set ablaze, Arag was still smiling—a strange, uncanny smile.

He looked at Moen, coughed blood, and said:

"MoenCampbell, let me tell you one more good thing."

"..."

Moen ignored him.

"Cough, cough... The good thing is... just now... I put another suggestion on you."

"Hm?"

Moen's brows furrowed instinctively.

"What do you mean?"

"Cough, cough... Suggestions of this sort are easy to guard against, and it's hard for them to matter at critical moments. But taking something already reasonable and making it feel even more reasonable—that is very easy."

"For example... getting Lea·Angel, a saintess candidate, to leave your side for a while, so that you can use the power of the King of Wither and fight at full strength... that's very reasonable."

"But in fact... I also needed LeaAngel... to leave your side."

"What?"

Moen's pupils contracted.

Suddenly, he felt a strange vitality extend upward along his arm.

He instinctively lowered his head and found that the strange vitality came from the blood that had, at some point, splashed onto his hand. And, most strangely, it had smoothly passed through the alchemical field he'd long since deployed and successfully burrowed into his body.

"This is..."

That vitality was too innocuous to even trigger Moen's body's instinctive vigilance.

However...

Ding—

In that instant, he seemed to hear, from within himself, a crisp sound like shattering glass.

As if a small pebble had jammed itself into intricately turning gears.

Next, the heat from the alchemical core turning at his back abruptly became pain.

A rending, heart-tearing pain.

It was as if all the organs and flesh within him were squeezing against each other—as a kind of instinctive immune response—jointly rejecting something.

Even at the cost of destroying everything in the process.

"Is this... a rejection reaction?"

Moen quickly realized the source of the pain, because he'd once, thanks to the pit-trap schemes of a certain old lolicon, experienced this taste in advance.

It was a sensation he was destined to undergo, as if his body were about to be torn apart.

No—no mere as if. If this mutual, violent repulsion continued, his body really would split open!

Therefore, the soul-burning crimson flames suddenly recoiled, instinctively shielding the vital organs within Moen.

"See, MoenCampbell, this is your weakness!"

Arag cried out excitedly: "That thing embedded in your body is already being rejected by it. And as long as there's no holy light spell to help you suppress it, you'll be forced to use the King of Wither's flames to maintain a brief balance."

"And so..."

On Arag's cheek, an eye suddenly split open—cold, yet taunting—staring at the man who had begun to weaken and cough blood:

"Now that you've lost all your crutches, what will you do?"