"These people are the true sinners."

The resounding proclamation echoed over the vast black sea of mud; after a brief silence, the millions of people in the mud sea immediately showed offended, angry expressions.

The old woman was even more shocked and enraged, her deformed, gaunt fingers pointed at Moen, her whole body trembling.

"Nonsense... nonsense! What sinners? Our people have lived in this Canterwell for a thousand years, isolated from the world. What sin could we have?"

"Right, isolated for a thousand years, looking like a bunch of innocent lambs; the whole world owes you, does it?"

Moen finally deigned to look the old woman in the eye and said with a sneer: "But if you hadn't known from beginning to end what exactly it was you believed in, then what you say wouldn't be so wrong."

The old woman's expression shifted slightly, but she quickly reined in her emotions and sneered: "Who are you, exactly? You dare slander us at will before Her Highness the saintess? We were only deceived!"

"'Deceived'? What a fine 'deception'! Heh, must I tear off even the last scrap of your facade? Very well, you seem to have no need of such things anymore."

Moen gave a cold laugh, took out the diary from before, and looked at Lea: "Do you remember what it said at the very beginning?"

"I remember."

Lea nodded. She had translated the diary at the time, so she remembered every detail with perfect clarity.

"'Goddess above, we truly succeeded. We created a perfect world, a world without hunger and pain...' I recall it went something like that, right?"

"Yes, that line reveals a fact... Canterwell was crafted by these people with their own hands."

Moen paused, then said:

"If we call this place a ranch, then they themselves hammered the pen's fence tight, blow by blow. They jumped in of their own accord."

"'Of their own accord, to become lambs of the dark god?'"

Lea's eyes suddenly widened, somewhat incredulous.

"Nonsense... Th-this proves what?"

The old woman's gaze turned dark. She roared in anger, her furious roar, as if echoed by a million others, was deafening:

"I said we were deceived. That's why we built this Canterwell. We mistakenly believed that dark god was... was..."

"'Mistakenly believed it was who? The Goddess of Life?'"

Moen opened the diary. Although he couldn't understand a word of those tadpole-like ancient characters, he still pretended to read in front of the old woman:

"Mm, indeed, you called that being Goddess, the Goddess of Life. From beginning to end, it was an image of boundless happiness, sincerely praising the deity.

But why, in all that praise, does the Goddess's honored name, Emil, never appear?

According to customary prayer, shouldn't you intone Her true name?

Is it ignorance? No, you knew. In the time of the first saintess, the name of Emil had already spread across the continent. At least those who fashioned this nation knew it!

So why was it absent? Is it because when worshiping that so-called Goddess of Life, you feared that the Goddess Emil would truly hear your prayers, so you deliberately erased that name?

And why, then, do you fear the Goddess Emil? Is She not the deity you claim to believe in? If you were deceived, shouldn't you be eager for Her to hear your voices?"

Moen's voice rose higher and higher, and by the end he was almost roaring.

The old woman's face grew ashen, like a piece of dried birch bark.

Even the sea of mud grew calm at that moment, and Moen's words seemed to become the only sound beneath the great tower.

"Moreover, the diary kept emphasizing the word Goddess, to a degree that's abnormal, even edging on madness. It's just like..."

"Like hypnotizing oneself to believe something, forcibly self-deceiving."

A hint of confusion appeared deep in Lea's eyes as she continued softly.

"That's right. To use a fitting analogy, it's like a traitor trying hard to prove that the side he chose is the army of kings.

It's much the same as Arag's suggestion."

Moen patted Lea's little head with pity. Lea shook her head, indicating she was fine.

"Do you have anything more to say?"

His indifferent gaze, sharp as a blade, pressed toward the old woman again.

In another stretch of silence, the old woman's look of shock and rage faded away, and she seemed to become a pitiable elder again and lowered her head in pain:

"Yes, you are right. We—or rather, that first group of us—knew that the one who granted us power was a dark god. As for the name, I cannot speak it now, or He will sense this place.

The honored name of the Goddess of Life was also deliberately erased by us. These... are facts."

"But..."

At the same time Lea showed a look of astonishment, humble tears welled again at the corners of the old woman's eyes. She sobbed: "These—these were all forced upon us!"

"'Forced upon you?' Moen raised an eyebrow."

"Yes. You do not know how terrible the era of chaos that swept the continent a thousand years ago truly was. We, too, used the power of the dark god only because we had no choice, to survive."

"Wasn't there still the Goddess?"

Lea suddenly interjected, "Lady Emil, the Goddess!"

"That Goddess Emil is indeed powerful, but She could not save everyone."

The old woman cast a pained look at Lea, then once again prostrated herself respectfully on the ground, sobbing:

"We did it to live. Yes, I admit it—we committed a tremendous sin. But only we are guilty; among the people here, many are innocent.

I no longer care about myself. Sir, and Your Highness the saintess, I beg you, please save those innocent children."

She wept bitterly as she spoke.

By any appearance, this was an elder who had once been monstrously sinful, but had awakened and, at the final moment, spoke kindly.

But this time, Lea pressed her lips together and said nothing.

"Heh, innocent?"

Moen let out a cold laugh, half-squatted, cocked his head, and calmly watched the old woman's flawless mask of grief:

"Do you remember what I said earlier?"

"Earlier? Which line?"

"I said... you lot are the true sinners."

Moen wanted to spit in the old woman's face, but good upbringing would not allow it—and more importantly, he did not wish to foul his own saliva.

He straightened, looked down upon the million people in the sea of mud, and spoke word by word in a tone as vicious as hammering nails into bone:

"By 'you lot,' I mean you—every single one—one million of you!

You are all sinners!"

"Everyone..."

The old woman's face changed completely: "Nonsense..."

"Shut up. I'm sick of hearing that line."

Moen's voice was cold, but he suddenly smiled, leaned to the old woman's ear, and asked softly:

"Do you still remember those monsters outside that resisted the Goddess's incursion?"

"What?"

The old woman was taken aback, seemingly not expecting Moen to say this.

"Then do you remember the prisoner?"

"..."

"What about the rabbit? The rabbit that wanted to see the sun?"

"..."

"Hey, why aren't you speaking? Do you not remember them... or do you not dare to speak?"

"..."

The old woman suddenly began to tremble, her whole body shuddering violently. Those twisted limbs flailed about as if trying to cover a guilt that could not be concealed.

"See? You turned dissenters into twisted monsters and rebels into prisoners to guard your gates.

And the little girl who wanted to escape this place and see the sun could only, day after day, dig tunnels in the darkness below, tunnels that might never reach an end.

Those truly innocent people left. So who are the ones that remain?"

Moen straightened up, his face showing undisguised disgust:

"Naturally, those who, for private desire, knowingly drag an entire world into the Abyss; who know that what they offer to the dark god will lead that dark god to kill countless people and ruin countless people's happiness, yet still wallow in a false dream... This is a great sin, a betrayal of humankind."

"What's most laughable is that before this, you clearly had two chances to wake up—two whole chances."

The first was a thousand years ago, when the equally kind first saintess exiled Canterwell and severed the connection between the dark god and this place.

They had a full thousand years to choose repentance, but they did not.

The second was when, with the Church's help, the Goddess Emil began to invade this world over a decade ago.

They needed only to relinquish this false happiness bought with their sold souls, but they did not.

Even now, the dark god's taint has reappeared upon them; they have sensed that dark god drawing near.

They became afraid and so posed as victims, crying for help again and again, pitifully seeking a scapegoat.

And that foolish sacrificial lamb is Lea.

This was what angered Moen the most.

...

...

"Are you okay."

Moen looked at Lea with concern.

"I'm fine."

Lea shook her head: "When you spoke about the diary, a lot clicked for me, so... I'm not that surprised."

"I just... don't quite know what to do."

Lea hugged her shoulders, her pale little face full of confusion and helplessness.

For a million innocent souls, she could unhesitatingly choose to sacrifice herself to save them.

But a million sinners?

"If you don't know what to do, leave it to me."

"Eh?"

"Look at this."

Moen gently pried open Lea's tightly clenched palm, revealing the crystal, now incomparably brilliant:

"See? The crystal is filled. So once everything is over, Lea will be the saintess."

Lea stared blankly at the crystal, as if stunned by its beauty.

Moen smiled slightly: "Rest a bit. Leave the rest to me."

"But..."

"Trust me."

Moen gave Lea a hug: "I'm your knight, am I not?"

...

The lingering warmth still clung to her body. Lea gazed at Moen's back, lips slightly parted, but in the end said nothing.

She ought, as always, to trust her knight, and yet, for some reason, a disquiet stirred in her heart this time.

...

"Y-you... what do you intend to do?"

Watching Moen slowly walk toward the center of the array pattern, the old woman suddenly grew flustered and blustered with a hollow ferocity:

"You want to destroy the array pattern? No, I'm telling you, no! You—you all must save us, or if we million are harvested by the dark god, the world... the entire world will fall into danger!"

The sea of mud surged as well, and an incessant torrent of filthy curses assaulted the ears.

"Is this the way you just used to disgust Lea?" Moen asked.

The old woman's voice, hoarse from screaming, suddenly faltered; she realized that the man before her was utterly different from the kind girl from earlier.

"All right, I'll save you," Moen said suddenly.

"Hm?"

The old woman let out that dull, vacant sound again, thinking she had misheard.

But the man before her looked at her with such sincerity, "As the divine attendant knight who aids the saintess, this is the only path, isn't it?"

"R-Really?"

The old woman was overjoyed beyond measure.

But that joy, accompanied by a shiver, abruptly dissipated.

She could feel that this man was actually very weak, and there was no aura of holy light upon him.

Then how was he going to save us?

"Yes, I will save you, I will... grant you true... salvation!!"

Under the gaze of a million suffering people, Moen stomped down hard, and crimson flames that burned all things swept out!