"Cough, cough..."

The painful coughs seemed to squeeze all the air from his lungs, and along with them, coppery, sweet blood wretchedly spilled from the corner of his mouth.

Moen staggered back a few steps, his face ashen.

On his back, every line of magic extending from the alchemical core now felt like a knife slicing his flesh, and his body had already labeled those things that did not originally belong to it as enemies, bent on expelling and eradicating them at any cost.

It was a self-protection mechanism everyone possessed, but at this moment, under the influence of some external force, the conflict that should not have erupted now suddenly did so, and in a far more violent way.

His whole body had become the most immediate battlefield, so Moen had to pull back the Crimson Flame to maintain a balance between the two; otherwise, under this exacerbated reaction, his life would soon be in direct danger.

And the situation before him was just as Arag had said.

The alchemical core was in an unstable state.

The Crimson Flame had to be used to sustain himself.

In facing the enemy, Moen’s two strongest trump cards were sealed in an instant.

"You really do think highly of me, huh."

Amid Arag’s manic laughter, Moen looked up and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth:

"A dignified dark god actually stoops to using such despicable means on me, and even made sure they would work before daring to appear before me. Should I be proud? Or..."

Staring at the eye on Arag’s cheek with its mocking look, Moen bared his teeth in a grin as well:

"Lord god of love, doesn’t this behavior of yours disgrace the title of dark god just a bit?"

"..."

The eye on Arag’s cheek remained indifferent; as a dignified dark god, he could not possibly react to a few barbed words.

Yet Arag’s head suddenly twisted at an unnatural angle, bringing that eyeball front and center, fixing on Moen as if looking down on an ant.

Arag’s lips wriggled, but what came out was a strange tongue no human could produce—ethereal, vast, making one unconsciously want to kneel:

[Moen·Campbell.]

"Oh?"

Moen raised a brow: "To know my name so clearly—how flattering."

[I ask thee.]

The god of love spoke coldly:

[How didst thou obtain the godly favor of the King of Wither? What didst thou trade for it? Thy flesh and thy soul are both without loss; why would He grant His power unto thee?]

At those words, Moen’s eyes narrowed.

So, the god of love had begun to suspect there was something fishy about his identity as a "follower of the King of Wither."

"About that..."

Moen suddenly gave a sly smile and said:

"To be honest, the King of Wither is actually my own brother—with a different father and a different mother; isn’t it only right He treats me a little better?"

"..."

"All right, all right, I’m kidding. Don’t glare at me with that disgusting big eyeball of yours."

"But if you want to know about this..."

Moen leaned forward, met that eyeball without a trace of fear, and said with utmost sincerity:

"Get on your knees and call me daddy, and I’ll tell you."

The split-open eye suddenly grew ferocious, and Arag roared in turn:

"Silence! How dare you blaspheme against the divine!"

Boom!

Faye once more moved in that uncanny way, extending a finger and pointing lightly at Moen.

gravity dozens of times stronger crashed down across him again in an instant.

Only this time, Moen failed to dodge in time.

Under the colossal pressure, Moen’s body bent sharply, his bones creaking under the strain, and he could only resist with difficulty in a half-crouch.

"Ha, ha ha!"

Arag laughed wildly: "Look at you—look at yourself now, MoenCampbell! Without those hacks, you’re nothing but an ordinary man after all!"

"I have always been just an ordinary man; don’t compare me to a freak like you—perverted in both body and mind." Moen spat a mouthful of blood and said coldly.

"You!"

A feral light flashed across Arag’s face, then he sneered: "Sharp tongue! But your mouth is the only hard thing you’ve got!"

"For the crime of blaspheming the divine, kneel at the feet of the great god and repent!"

Brilliant flowers sprouted rapidly along Arag’s arm, soon covering the entire limb.

Beneath the interwoven roots of those blooms, his hand swelled abruptly, the twisted limb seeming to turn into a massive tentacle that slammed hard into Moen’s abdomen.

The terrifying force cracked Moen off his feet and flung him like a tossed sandbag, but before he got far he abruptly dropped in midair, defying all common sense.

A crushing gravity, enough to pulp a mighty magical beast, pressed down on him again; suspended in the air, Moen had no leverage to resist and could only be slapped straight into the ground like a pitiful fly.

"Kill him."

Arag gave the order coldly.

Faye, like a marionette on strings, moved stiffly. From her trembling delicate body, one could faintly see she was still resisting, but amid the coiling flowers, her parched lips, half-exposed, finally... began to move, slowly.

A prolonged chant poured pure and clear from between her lips and teeth.

Vast magic was brewing.

The ferocity in Arag’s eyes turned into delight.

Faye·Siegel, within the faction-ridden Tower of Origin, was a genius among geniuses. Even after her candidacy as saintess was revealed, many old-timers in the Tower of Origin opposed her choosing that path.

In those elders’ view, the position of saintess would actually hinder her progress in magic.

So, just how many kinds of magic could such a prodigious girl wield by now?

As a fellow mage of the Tower of Origin, Arag had only heard that she excelled in gravity magic and summoning magic.

And that question, at this moment, finally got its answer.

Without even needing the aid of a wand, massive magic gathered quickly overhead like a weighty, multicolored cloud bank.

Once, the two famous sisters who defected from the Tower of Origin had been feared and renowned for their mastery of multiple chanting.

But Faye’s multiple chanting was even more effortless than theirs.

Several fearsome spells were chanted in parallel at the same time, interweaving and blending; were Faye’s own realm not insufficient, it would surely have been an apocalyptic scene.

And now that apocalypse had resolutely descended upon the man who seemed to have no power to resist.

Boom—

The magic fell.

The blazing light turned everything into rough black-and-white strokes.

It proclaimed destruction and an end.

It’s over...

Faye’s vacant eye showed itself, and a single crystal tear involuntarily slid down.

As if in mourning.

...

"Heh, that’s the price of profaning the divine!"

Gazing at the billowing dust, Arag’s mouth curled in a mocking smile.

On his cheek, that eerie eye, which had been open, was just about to slowly close.

He cared only about MoenCampbell; since he was dead, the rest...

"Ah, I see."

Suddenly, a voice came from within the dust—so clear.

"What?"

Arag froze, almost thinking he was hallucinating.

But he was the one who played with illusions; how the hell could he hallucinate?

The eerie eye snapped open as well, staring fixedly at one spot.

"I think I get it—the god of love, you conniving old schemer—this time you didn’t pour much power in at all. Otherwise, given the deep bond we’ve built up till now, you wouldn’t be trying to kill me in such a roundabout way."

From the haze, a figure strolled out at an unhurried pace, arcs of lightning skittering over his body.

Moen’s clothes were in tatters, as if he’d just done a round trip through a blaze; even his head of blond hair had been singed in patches.

Blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth, his face was very pale—he looked utterly wretched.

And yet... he was still alive. Still... standing.

"H-how... how is this possible? That spell... you took that spell... why are you still alive?"

"Because I dodged it, of course."

Moen looked at Arag as if at an idiot: "Who the hell just stands there and tanks a spell for no reason? I don’t have that particular kink."

"Dodged? But the gravity magic..."

Arag’s words suddenly halted, for he abruptly noticed an array of very, very deep footprints behind Moen where he had walked...

He was still under the suppression of the gravity magic.

"Gravity magic, huh. The pressure from this gravity right now... feels about the same as the strain when I use sixtyfold time dilation. It’s practically like being back home."

Moen’s bones creaked, and because his ruptured capillaries, a faint mist of blood drifted off his skin from time to time.

But Moen seemed not to notice, his back still ramrod-straight—even stretching lazily.

"You... why?"

Terror twisted Arag’s features, and he instinctively retreated a few steps:

"You shouldn’t be able to use those two things—why... why?"

"Mm, I can’t use them for the moment. I even spent a bit of time making adjustments just now; otherwise I wouldn’t have passively taken a few hits from you."

Moen nodded seriously:

"But... Arag, and you too, god of love—have you perhaps mistaken something?"

"Be it the Crimson Flame or the alchemical core, they’ve both given me tremendous help."

"But you don’t really think that what I’ve relied on, all the way to this point, is just that sort of thing, do you?"

With a casual motion, Moen tore open the rags wrapped around his torso.

It revealed that solid body.

His muscles were tight, his lines graceful; every contour seemed carved by the finest of artists, as if cast in gold, charged with explosive beauty.

Even covered in wounds and running with blood, one could still feel the terrible power hidden within this human body.

"The Crimson Flame and the alchemical core are merely my weapons, my blades. What has supported me until now, the source of my strength... is the effort I have never relaxed for even a single moment since coming to this world!"

Yes.

Every day.

Every night.

Every spare moment.

In the Black Book.

In the depths of consciousness.

In the old lolicon's Sea of flowers.

In the academy's library or elsewhere.

Clashing.

Fighting.

Taking a beating.

Studying.

Not for a single moment has he ever slackened!

It is these bit-by-bit accumulations that are the source of his strength.

Will a beast become powerless just because its weapons are confiscated?

No.

Because it still has its innate claws and fangs!

Moen grinned ferociously, drew his blade, and charged at Arag once more.