"Did you do it on purpose?"

"You can fling magic around, but you can't fling words around. When did I ever... all right, all right, don't stare at me like that. I admit it."

Seeing she couldn't bluff her way through by playing cute, Mela returned to her usual nonchalant look, folding her arms and saying proudly:

"I did do it on purpose."

"...Throwing your own disciple into a death trap, and you can still act so high and mighty."

The Pope lowered his head, his gaze tinged with pity:

"If I were that boy, I'd probably already be thinking about how, once you're old, to yank the breathing tube from your magitech respirator."

"I am forever eighteen. How could I ever get old?"

Mela swung her fist in anger, her pink pajamas fluttering with the motion and revealing a strip of fair skin on her tummy: "Besides, everything I'm doing is for his own good. As my disciple, he'll surely understand his teacher's painstaking intentions!"

"Heh, by 'painstaking intentions' you mean stuffing a full five distinct powers—each one enough to kill him hundreds of times—into his body and letting them brawl it out?"

The Pope raised an eyebrow. After a moment's thought, as if recalling something, his gaze suddenly fell upon Mela, who at this moment was floating not far away.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a bit, then said in sudden realization:

"So that's it. You've already reached this step. No wonder. At a time like this, you certainly wouldn't allow any accident to disrupt your plan—for instance, the divine favor of the King of Wither—even if you don't care about that thing at all."

"It's not that I've already reached this step, it's that I must reach this step. Your Sanctum, you know, is progressing much faster than mine."

"That's not the same."

The Pope smiled wryly and shook his head.

With a sweep of his wide sleeve, apart from the moon that had already fallen into Canterwell, those artificial stars once again began to run along their predetermined orbits. A sky full of stars appeared upon the firmament, sketching a vast panorama, mysterious and ancient.

"For a thousand years, no observation has ever shown any divine favor producing side effects on the favored, or exacting any extra price. Divine favor, divine favor—those very words represent the special grace of the gods.

So divine favor and a transaction are fundamentally different; it carries no taint or corrosion.

Even so, that grace still comes from that dark god who is at this very moment devouring the moon, and who knows what that one will do afterward.

Favor implies bonds and causality; it implies a connection that's hard to sever. Are you afraid that at a critical moment, that one will use the boy to interfere with your plan?"

"Just incidental."

Mela answered.

"Incidental?"

The Pope turned his head, a bit taken aback.

"Of course. You just said I don't care about that sort of thing. So a little matter like this is naturally just something to handle in passing."

"Then you..."

"Why, to secure the very best for my dear disciple, of course."

Mela smiled with narrowed eyes: "As my disciple, how could he be taken with handout-type trinkets other people bestow? So when he chose to give up divine favor of his own accord before, I was quite gratified. It showed he wasn't blinded by power."

"...So you push him into a pit of fire?"

The Pope prided himself on being used to viewing all things from above, yet at this moment he almost couldn't help but offer a prayer for Moen himself, hoping that when he later died at the hands of this wicked old loli, at least a whole corpse would remain.

"This so-called 'best' of yours is a bit too hot to handle."

"Naturally. When he chose to become my disciple, I told him... this is a road full of unknowns and pain, where he could be damned beyond redemption at any time. I imagine the boy was already mentally prepared.

And besides..."

Mela looked toward Canterwell, the corner of her mouth curling mercilessly:

"I, his teacher, run all over the place working hard for him, and he goes off to flirt with girls? And actually succeeds? I really want to go back and tell his little girlfriend and little fiancée all about this.

Such disrespect for my hard work deserves a few extra hardships."

"On that point I agree. Please increase the intensity."

The Pope nodded, then added:

"But aren't you afraid he'll die here?"

"Die?"

Mela tilted her head and smiled strangely:

"Isn't that a question for you? Where is this? Which goddess does it serve? And who are you, Your Holiness the Pope?"

"..."

Where is this?

This is, of course, the Church.

The Church that serves the Goddess named Life.

And he is the Pope, beneath the Goddess and above all others.

If he actually let Moen die right under his nose, that would truly be a disgrace beyond measure.

"But even with me here to at least keep him alive, I still think he can't succeed."

The Pope lowered his eyelids, countless lights turning in the depths of his pupils:

"Those powers can't possibly achieve balance. They'll only devour him through pointless struggle and attrition. And moreover... several dark gods, plus the resentment of a million people—perhaps even you don't know what will eventually be brewed up."

"What it is in the end isn't important. What's important is that the thing will belong to that boy completely."

Lea shrugged and said, "As for not being able to achieve balance... isn't that obvious? How do five powers balance? At the very least you need an even number, so naturally one is still missing."

"One missing?"

The Pope frowned. "What other power in Canterville could..."

As he spoke, the Pope trailed off.

Because he suddenly noticed that this damned, unscrupulous old loli was once again staring straight at him with that weird look.

As if looking at some sweet little cake.

"You... what do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I don't mean anything."

Mela leaned in with an innocent face, rubbing her fingers together like a little errand boy asking for a tip, and smiled slyly:

"It's just, Your Holiness—have you perhaps forgotten something you promised long ago?"

...

...

"Mu... Moen?"

Seeing Moen suddenly faint, Lea, flustered and at a loss, carefully laid him flat on the ground.

Lea couldn't know what Moen was experiencing at this moment, but from his contorted expression alone it was clear he was in great pain.

Terrifying powers collided within him. Scarlet flames burrowed madly into his body, but when they flowed back out, they were already stained black with unclean filth.

"What should I... do?"

Lea wiped Moen's sweat, tried to smooth the furrows in his brow, and wanted even more to share his pain, but she was a bit powerless.

In her earlier self-sacrifice, most of her holy light had been consumed, and afterwards, having helped Moen shoulder the resentment, she now had not a shred of strength to spare anywhere in her body.

"At least make him a little more comfortable."

Lea bit her lip, suddenly bent down, leaned against Moen, and used the soft flesh of her delicate body to lightly rub against his skin.

Skin sliding against skin sent shock-like sensations through her. Lea panted softly, and a certain something that had only just subsided rose again with these sensuous motions.

As she rubbed, Lea brushed against a certain thing that, even now, was still firm.

Lea froze for a moment, then her cheeks flushed.

She suddenly remembered that although she couldn't release holy light outside her body right now, having been bathed in holy light since childhood, everything about her in itself bore the effects of holy light.

It was precisely for that reason that those people earlier wanted to dissolve even her blood and bones together.

So...

Lea bit her lip.

Thinking of it that way... that part of hers... should work as well, right?