"So that's the thing you've schemed so much to create?"

At the Highest Seat, the Pope, his gaze piercing through Canterwell, captured that uncanny flame in the instant Moen revealed the Black Flame, then hurriedly cut the live broadcast before the scene turned into something he should avert his eyes from.

His expression was peculiar as he forcibly suppressed the urge to break all three legs of that blond brat who was soiling his own cabbage, and turned his head to ask:

"Are you sure that freakish thing that's more sinister than a dark god won't bring any repercussions?"

Even with just a hasty glance, the Pope could clearly feel the eeriness contained within that flame. Beneath its sacred outer raiment was an interior black as the Abyss; dreadful whispers and murmurs of sin still echoed within it, as if able to drag a person's soul into it, devour it completely, and turn it into the embers of the flame.

"Well, although I have indeed run many simulations, but I can't shake the feeling that..."

Mela touched her chin, her baby-fat little face growing solemn. She counted on her little finger and muttered for quite a while, then grumbled:

"This, compared to my calculations—if not worlds apart, it's at least utterly unrelated. It feels like something's off, doesn't it?"

The Pope was nearly dumbstruck, and snapped in anger:

"So you're saying your deductions were wrong, and that thing has completely slipped out of your control?"

"No? It hasn't. After all, the most important objective—to completely sever the connection to the dark god—has been achieved perfectly."

Mela shook her head: "And didn't you just say it yourself? No one can predict what it will end up becoming. After all, it's forged by the intermingling of several dark gods' powers; a few surprises are only normal. So what's important is not the ability, but that kid. However uncanny the thing is, it's nothing more than a weapon in his hand; in the end it depends on how he uses it."

"You trust that disciple of yours that much?"

"What do you think?"

Mela did not answer; instead she turned her head, half-smiling at the Pope, wanting to know his opinion.

The Pope pondered for a moment, then couldn't help but sigh.

If it had been before, the notion of a once-notorious wastrel young master wielding such unknown and terrifying power would have made him extremely wary. After all, the source of many disasters is greedy people who unrestrainedly seek power they cannot control, only to be devoured by it in the end.

But... after the series of events in Canterwell—such as still being able to keep his original heart even after his "cheats" were sealed by the god of love; such as separating and burning his own powerful divine favor without a second thought...

Even he had to admit that, though he still wanted to break all three of that kid's legs, MoenCampbell did indeed have the mindset to keep his own power under control.

He was just a bit lecherous.

And a scumbag.

Thinking of this, the Pope couldn't help rubbing his temples again. Wasn't this the Holy Ablution meant to choose the saintess? Why did it look as if it was tailored to test that kid instead?

"Looks like you understand as well."

Mela's lips curled slightly; unlike the Pope, who still had to maintain poise and propriety, she lowered her head, let her gaze pierce through Canterwell, and with great interest appreciated that surging, flesh-on-flesh action battle.

"He got to where he is today not because of me, nor because of those external things, but because of his own effort."

"He doesn't need anyone to bestow anything upon him. Everything is what he deserves. These seemingly remarkable powers are nothing but tools he uses as he probes forward."

"It is not power that makes him, but he who makes power."

"..."

The Pope fell slightly silent; it was, he didn't know how many times today, that he felt surprised by Mela's words:

"I've never heard you praise someone like this. Do you like him that much?"

"This isn't praise. It's merely me being satisfied with my own choice. You could say I'm complimenting myself."

With a look of smugness, Mela folded her arms across her chest, her amber-like crimson eyes slanting a glance at the Pope:

"And what do you mean I've never praised anyone? I used to admire you very much."

"Admire me?"

The Pope, who had only ever experienced this old lolicon's prowess at taking advantage of people, frowned and searched his memories of the few scenes when she had awakened in the past, then said uncertainly:

"How do I not know?"

"Of course you don't. Back then you were only this big. When I saw you in the arms of the current... or was it the previous Pope at the time, I knew at first glance that child would surely achieve great things in the future!"

Mela, reminiscing about the past, said with feeling:

"After all, wetting your pants in the Pope's arms in front of so many people—that's not something just anyone can pull off."

"..."

The old Pope's face twitched.

He, who could keep a straight face even at the descent of a dark god, now truly wanted to die together with this old bastard.

But on second thought, for humanity's sake, he held it in.

"Let's not talk about this sort of thing for now."

With a sweep of his wide sleeve, the Pope regained his majesty. "Enough chit-chat. If your projection wants to sightsee, then sightsee, but don't delay me from doing serious business."

"What serious business?"

The Pope glanced at Canterwell: "Do I need to tell you?"

Just as he spoke, a figure of elegance and sanctity drifted over and inclined her head slightly to the Pope:

"Your Majesty."

"Latina."

The Pope nodded in return.

The saintess then looked politely at Mela and gave a serious bow: "You must be the great archmage MelaDormir. First time meeting—an honor."

"Hello, little saintess of the current era... hm?"

Mela casually swept a glance over the saintess, and her inky, slender brows arched suddenly; her tone grew somewhat meaningful:

"In this condition, you're not thinking of getting a good meal in you, and you're still forcing yourself to hold on?"

"Thank you for your concern, Your Excellency the archmage, but I know my own body. I'm not yet at the point where the oil lamp is so spent that I can't manage even such small tasks. On the contrary, having just indulged a little, my body and mind are quite relaxed now."

The saintess wore a gentle smile and looked very much at ease.

"With His Majesty's indulgence, I should still be able to live a few more years."

"Is that so..."

As for the Church's internal affairs, Mela did not interject much; she merely watched silently as the saintess and the Pope conversed at length, discussing various matters.

After they finished, they summoned some bishops and clergy and quickly assigned tasks. Some clergy looked excited; others a bit downcast, sneaking looks at the current saintess with reluctant expressions.

"I see—so this is the 'serious business.' No wonder they dragged it out for so long: it can't be done yet."

Mela, watching the spectacle, rubbed her chin with a mischievous grin, not planning to leave just yet; it had been a while since she'd wanted to be an onlooker enjoying the drama.

But before she had time to keep watching, Mela's brows arched again.

Because the Pope who had been about to attend to serious business suddenly had a drastic change of expression.

His sharp gaze fell upon a certain place; he seemed to be listening intently to something. In that instant, the intensity of his emotional shift even surpassed when the dark god's true body had acted personally just now.

Because earlier he had known the dark god's attempt was bound to fail.

But now... something extremely dire had already happened.

"Your Majesty?"

The saintess asked:

"What has happened?"

"...The commander of the Holy Sword Knights, Kans Rod, has defected."

The Pope sighed.

"Defected?"

Mela touched her chin: "The Holy Sword—if I recall, that's one of the four knightly orders guarding the Emil Cathedral, right? A knights-commander... mm, that's quite a high position within the Church."

Mela then looked somewhat puzzled:

"But even if he defected, it shouldn't make you lose your composure like this. Did he, while running off, happen to take along a list of your old lovers, planning to blackmail you by threatening to make it public?"

"Heh. I rather wish what he took was this supposed list of my old lovers—then at least things could still be salvaged."

The Pope's face turned incomparably grim. Looking into Mela's eyes, he said, word by word:

"Unfortunately, I have no old lovers, and what he took was not that, but rather..."

As the Pope's lips moved, those few words slipped one by one into Mela's ears; Mela, who had been expecting to be entertained, had her expression... change drastically in an instant.

...

...

Half an hour earlier.

Emil Cathedral, core area at the bottom, Second Forbidden Zone.

Kans led a small squad of knights through layer upon layer of wards and arrived before the guards of the gate they protected.

"Holy Sword Knights. By order of the venerable archbishop, we have come to relieve the guard."

His expression was solemn, fresh blood still marked his armor, and his mere presence exuded a heart-quailing aura.

But the guarding knight did not so much as twitch an eyelid; he spoke in a voice cold as a machine:

"Transfer order."

"This is the order."

Kans handed over a metallic gleaming token to the guard. The guard knight carefully verified it, confirmed that the order indeed came from Archbishop Locast, and then, after confirming that the identity and serial number of the person before him had no discrepancies, finally nodded:

"Order verified. Proceed with the change of guard."

From the shadows, several knights with a chilling air stepped out; the knights behind Kans were equally well-drilled and took over those posts quickly.

The guard knights departed in silence, going to follow the command from Archbishop Locast as per the order.

After the relief was completed, Kans took a careful turn about the area and said to his subordinates:

"I'll go inside and take a look."

"Yes."

His subordinates responded in tones as lifeless as corpses.

Thus, with no one sensing anything amiss and no one raising any questions, Kans strode easily through the gate.

But he only walked through the gate.

Beyond it, Kans stopped, for two boundaries clearly divided the inside from the out.

In fact, the guarding knights were only the first and initial line of defense. The truly important ones were the second and the third.

The Grand Barrier.

The Holy Sanctuary.

Two creations that represented the Church's highest achievements faithfully protected this place. With these two in existence, no one in the world today could breach it by force.

Even to enter required the Church's highest clearance. With only his status as a knights-commander, it was naturally impossible; reaching this point was already the limit.

This was one of the most secure places in the entire Church.

But...

Kans closed his eyes, somewhat hesitant.

Because he understood that once he took another step forward, there would be no turning back.

Continue forward, or turn back?

Don't you want... to truly make her yours?

A seductive voice resounded in the depths of his heart.

That captivating her, that sacred her, that lofty and exalted her, that her upon whom all eyes are fixed, that her who looks down on you with disdain...

Don't you want her to belong to you alone, to make her kneel before you, to take whatever you want from her, to make her completely your... property?

As that sacred and elegant figure surfaced in his mind, for some reason he also thought of another comical Pink Bear, and Kans suddenly opened his eyes:

"I want to!"

His eyes were already bloodshot; the former majesty and solemnity were gone, as if he had fallen into some kind of frenzy, and even the voice that emerged did not seem to be his own—raw and hoarse.

He no longer hesitated; he took a step forward and passed through the Grand Barrier.

A Pure white radiance emanated from him; an ethereal hymn began to play; holy feathers drifted down like the merciful wings of a goddess.

The Grand Barrier showed no reaction; only a mechanical voice echoed in the icy space:

"Good evening, saintess·Belena."

Kans did not respond, continuing forward as he stepped into the final sanctum.

The sanctum rippled faintly, as if recognizing his authorization, allowing him to pass smoothly.

At last, Kans—who had successfully traversed the strongest defense in this world—stood before that precision instrument; gazing at the ineffable existence soaking in the solution, half his cheek suddenly split open, revealing a single eye with a hideous, grinning gleam.

[Long time no see; at last... I have you.]