"You're the damn one who got fucked. I'm always the one doing the fucking, got it?"

Moen got up with a twisted expression and rubbed his butt.

The dizziness in his head gradually faded, but the pain in his backside still lingered. From the residual force, Moen could even picture the assailant's gnashing, gritted-teeth look while committing the deed.

Damn it, who did this.

Could it be that detestable old lolicon hiding somewhere to watch the joke again.

Or...

In his mind surfaced that iconic golden door from just now; Moen, feeling just a tiny bit guilty, immediately didn’t dare think further.

When it comes to "stealing the cabbage", one has to keep a low profile, a very low profile, or it's easy to get beaten.

Especially since he was still in the farmer uncle’s courtyard right now; if they shut the doors to slaughter the pig, not even Jesus could save him.

Thinking of this, Moen swallowed the curse that had reached his lips, straightened his clothes, and regained the elegance and composure befitting a noble, as if the previous disheveled state had never existed, then casually turned to take in the surroundings.

Inside the spacious church, the lights were bright; the Goddess’s statue stood at the highest point, gazing upon all with compassion.

Rows of seats were already occupied by people waiting; though few, they were all acquaintances of Moen.

Margarita and Paul.

Anne and Reta.

Faye and Thunder Spear.

And… Lea, who had just stepped out from the door, curiously craning her head to look around.

And himself.

Except for Freya and Bryan, who had sacrificed themselves at Canterwell, all the saintess candidates and divine attendant knights were gathered once more.

This time there were no unrelated personnel, and the solemn atmosphere immediately made Moen understand something; his expression grew earnest accordingly.

He met eyes with Lea; she shook her head at him and gave a don’t-worry smile.

“So slow…”

Margarita seemed to have been praying just now; she rose gracefully from before the statue of the Goddess, glanced at Moen, and her narrow eyes narrowed:

“Though it’s a bit rude, may I ask what you were doing in there for so long?”

“W-What do you mean, doing what?”

Moen kept a stern face. “We didn’t do anything.”

“Mm!”

Lea’s pretty face flushed slightly, and she nodded vigorously in agreement: “We didn’t do anything!”

“What kind of reaction is that?”

Margarita’s expression turned odd as she glanced at Lea.

“Nothing…”

“Heh heh, smells like something fishy.”

Faye, who was napping on a long row of seats not far away, yawned and said with a squinty smile.

Moen ignored Faye and looked at the slightly frowning Margarita; he more or less realized the intent behind her urgent and blunt question.

“What do you want to ask?”

“Naturally, what you did inside that tower. Do I need to repeat this several times?”

“I already answered: we didn’t do anything.”

Moen spread his hands, innocently.

Kidding aside, sending a full one million people to meet the Goddess is the kind of thing you absolutely can’t just blurt out.

Even if that million were sinners, whether morally or legally, such a deed would be absolutely unacceptable to the world.

Therefore it could only remain a private tacit understanding between him and the Church; otherwise, if it were publicized, he’d be pinned to the tribunal and sentenced to death a few hundred times.

“That dark god sun forged of flame at the time, and the moon that fell—neither of those were your doing?”

Margarita’s gaze was suspicious.

That high-hung dark god crimson sun back then, and the moon that suddenly fell afterward, still left her with lingering fear.

If they hadn’t slipped away quickly, they might have become dust under the aftermath of the two colliding.

“You think we’re colluding with the dark god?”

Moen still looked exceedingly innocent.

“No, it’s just that the dark god sun… should have come from that one, but that one shouldn’t have any connection to Canterwell under any circumstances. It could only have been brought in by an outsider, and the only two outsiders in the tower at the time were…”

“Isn’t that way of guessing a bit too arbitrary?”

Moen showed not the slightest panic, fully playing to the strengths of an excellent noble; like giving a speech, he placed one hand to his chest, face full of guileless innocence: “Heaven and earth can be my witness: I’m a proper, pure-bred noble scion. How could I possibly use the dark god’s power to cut off my own future? Even less could I be colluding with the dark god. Miss Margarita, you’re overthinking it.”

Of course he had no collusion with the dark god.

He had only "fleeced the wool" from several dark gods, and among them, a certain unnamed "Bro Wither"—to say he got utterly wrecked wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

“Is that so…”

Margarita stared into Moen’s eyes, finding nothing amiss; she could only rub her brow and say, apologetically:

“Sorry. I’m still currently a candidate saintess of the Church; about that sort of matter, it’s impossible not to be vigilant and curious, because…”

Freya and Elazer.

Judging by identity alone, they had no motive to collude with the dark god.

But a person, whatever their identity, is always complex.

Reasons for choosing to trade with the dark god can range from sacrificing one’s soul to save someone, to merely a tiny twisted desire in the heart.

“I know. As for these questions, you can ask the Church; with your status, you should get an answer.”

“Indeed—but why do I feel I won’t get the real answer?”

Margarita smiled without smiling.

“I’m an outsider; I can’t decide such things.”

Moen’s lips curved slightly: “And Miss Margarita, what you’re truly curious about isn’t this, is it.”

“...Right, that question is just incidental. Since you and Lea are here, that possibility isn’t large.”

Margarita nodded and didn’t deny it; her gaze fell on Lea, who had been very quiet since just now.

Anne was more direct; apparently unable to stand Margarita’s roundabout approach, she planted a foot on the chair and met Lea’s eyes head-on—big eyes to small eyes.

As this Sacred Bathing Rite had progressed to now, the suspense still hadn’t been resolved.

But Freya had already sacrificed herself, and Faye had voluntarily retired; the final outcome fell upon the three of them.

No—now it should be said it fell upon Lea, because in the view of Margarita and Anne, who had still fought side by side just moments ago, what would ultimately sway the result was what Lea had, in fact, done inside that tower.

Whether she had… as suspected, truly saved the natives of that nation.

If that was true, then no matter how full Margarita and Anne filled their crystals, they couldn’t shake that result.

But…

“You don’t have to be like this.”

Facing their stares, Lea suddenly gave a bitter smile and shook her head.

She did not offer much explanation; she simply and silently took out her own crystal.

All results thereby revealed themselves.

Because that crystal, although it had just served as the medium for the baptism of holy light, still had not shed its taint.

Like a dense black mist, it filled the entire crystal; only specks of light flickered, pitiful.

“This is…”

The two looked shocked.

They didn’t know where that taint came from, but they understood: if the final judgment of results relied on this crystal, then Lea now…

“I did not manage to save anyone.”

The crystal’s dim glow reflected in Lea’s eyes, and her voice betrayed neither joy nor sorrow.

“So I’ve lost that qualification.”

...

...

Having gotten the answer they wanted, Margarita and Anne comforted Lea a few times, then did not further press about Canterwell.

Instead, the two comrades who had fought side by side not long ago stared coldly at each other; sparks seemed to crackle between their eyes.

The mood grew tense. The two top-tier A’s began to clash like needle to needle, and would occasionally jab at each other, with lines like, “With a chest that small, you should just give up,” or, “If you become saintess, lingerie shop owners across the continent will cry.”

In short, it all felt like dirty tactics that inflicted a thousand points of damage on the enemy at the cost of eight hundred to themselves.

“When did those two become so close.”

Moen nudged the spectator beside him, Paul, with his elbow.

Paul’s face was a bit pale, looking thoroughly drained: “A bond forged in life-and-death—how could they not become closer.”

“Oh? Then why do you look so bad?”

“What else?”

Paul said miserably: “I’m someone who swings a sword one cut at a time; insisting on keeping pace with that slaughter machine—that’s really staking my life. Yet for my lady, I couldn’t help but go all out.”

He let out a long sigh:

“I’ve been squeezed dry to the last drop.”

“I understand, I understand.”

Moen patted Paul’s shoulder.

Paul turned in surprise and scrutinized Moen’s face; discovering he also looked thoroughly drained, he sighed and patted Moen’s shoulder, too:

“We truly share the same affliction.”

“...”

Moen’s mouth twitched, his expression odd.

He didn’t feel it was the same affliction.

Because even though both are being drained, the difference between being drained and being drained can sometimes be bigger than the difference between a scumbag and a simp.

...

The two girls’ head-to-head did not last long, because as light gathered on its own, the saintess, in a sacred, pure-white long dress, finally appeared.

“Your Highness, Saintess.”

Everyone bowed respectfully.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

The saintess nodded to each person, her gaze as gentle as ever, then carefully swept over each one.

Afterward, her gaze fixed, as if on a certain saintess candidate who was no longer here, and on her knight.

“Remembrance for the deceased isn’t suited to this moment, yet let us still offer our sorrow for that girl who has returned to the Goddess’s embrace and found the one she loves.”

The saintess pressed her hands together and prayed softly:

“She is a kind person; she is a noble person; she is a compassionate person. What she has done will be remembered by the world. She will be with the holy light, with us, and with the Goddess.”

"With the Goddess."

This was not much of a formal farewell, yet everyone here would still have their hearts stirred by the saintess candidate who had already departed forever.

Even Moen, watching from the sidelines, felt his mind blur for a moment; it was as if he had returned to the very beginning, to when he himself was here, seeing Freya for the first time.

Back then, the girl he regarded with wary eyes wore a gentle smile and walked up to him:

"Mr. Moen, do you like flowers?"

...

...