This was a world of nothingness—a silent, empty realm of absolute freedom…

Like hell it is!

Morris jolted awake, yanked the blanket off, and let out a sharp shriek: “Why the heck did I dream that bizarre EVA finale?!”

He was in Hesin County, a bustling metropolis seven hundred kilometers from Hammer County. Macedon City served as Luna Duchy’s capital and a hub for wizards, lending it an air of age-old tradition. But Hesin County? It embodied modern urban vitality within the Duchy. Thanks to its progressive lord, the city felt lively—though still firmly medieval. Don’t expect Disneyland here… though maybe Gan Guang Amusement Park could pull it off?

Luna Duchy’s famed Royal Academy stood proudly in Hesin County. Rumor said its campus sprawled vast, filled with nobles from elite houses or prodigies risen from humble roots. Morris disliked both types—especially the former. Just recalling those haughty young masters and misses from church drained his spirit.

Yawning, he descended the inn stairs, settled his bill, and stepped outside to resume the Pope’s peculiar journey.

This time, Morris was certain Lenna wouldn’t appear. Last time, she’d tracked him solely through the Pope’s unique Arcanum signature. But he’d grown wiser: he’d used the Saint of Destruction’s power to erase every trace of his path. The very essence of “Destruction” probably never imagined being weaponized for espionage. Per the *New Testament of the Saints*, no Saint may forcibly interfere in mortal affairs—or face united retribution. Yet if those twelve world-pillar beings ever clashed… Morris slapped his forehead. Damn! The Third Impact! No wonder the EVA nightmare—the plot hole was right there!

Still, erasing physical traces wasn’t his true safety net. That was Sif.

Last time, Lenna had chased him alone across the Sindel Wastes overnight. Not now. Sif was with her. Though Sif seemed cold and fixated solely on Morris, she was kind-hearted. Lenna would never send Sif to Macedon City alone.

A little cunning? Perhaps. But also a small reward collected from Sif.

By afternoon, the young Pope let out a satisfied burp exiting a restaurant.

Vendors called out. Horse-drawn carriages clattered past. Flower shop steps bloomed with vibrant blossoms; beneath the awning, a goat-horn lantern swayed. Café tables and parasols dotted the street where elegantly dressed youths lounged. Birds sliced through drifting clouds. Pastry shop windows showcased intricate medieval patterns. From the blacksmith’s forge came roaring flames, the master’s shouts, and the apprentice’s strained hammering. Morris moved through the lively crowd—utterly unremarkable.

He’d arrived last night but only now wandered freely. No goal. Just fun.

Humming, he strolled on, ignoring the shadowy figures trailing behind.

Near the city-wall alley where crowds thinned, a heavy hand clapped his shoulder. Morris turned—just as a fist shot toward his face. The attacker laughed wildly… then froze. His punch hit only air.

Morris tilted his head. The blow whistled past his ear. A faint light glimmered in his deep gray eyes—like a lighthouse cleaving the dark sea at the world’s edge. “Who are you?”

“Ah, brother, misunderstanding! Haha!” The leader chuckled nervously, stepping forward, yanking the puncher behind him. “We mistook you for someone else. My apologies!”

He patted Morris’s shoulder, shoving backward—trying to force him into the alley. Morris stood firm. Unmoving.

“Boss?” the puncher stammered.

The leader’s smile vanished. “Attack!” A fist lunged for Morris’s gut.

Morris sidestepped left. Two more fists flew. Wind roared past his ears. In a blink, he vanished—and reappeared behind them. The leader froze. The other two suddenly faced each other, unretractable punches slamming into jaws. Teeth rattled. They crashed into the wall, unconscious.

“You… you?!” The man paled. “You’re an Arcane Source Wizard!”

“I never said I wasn’t,” Morris smiled. “What did you want?”

“No—just a joke! Forgive us, Wizard!” He dropped to his knees. “This fool acted rashly! Please spare us!”

Morris blinked. After years secluded in wizard-dense Macedon City… had the world grown this respectful toward Arcane Source Wizards? He burst into genuine laughter. The man stared, baffled.

“Um… you’ll spare us?” the man ventured.

“Really just robbing?” Morris stroked his chin. Something felt off.

The man stiffened. Morris stepped closer—

An elder in Lunhai clerical robes emerged behind him. He studied Morris, the fallen thugs, then the kneeling man.

“You’re a wizard?”

“Yes.” Morris frowned inwardly. *Shouldn’t you be kneeling too?*

“Come to the church,” the elder sighed. “Confess your sin of violence.”

“…What? What?!”