Dusk.

A deep, heavy dusk.

At twilight, a crimson-tinged glow swept over the mountains and settled upon Arvin Hamlet.

Houses of every shape were bathed in the evening light. As the sky dimmed, more pedestrians hurried homeward.

On the quiet, empty streets, fruit vendors packed their stalls, murmuring calculations of the day’s earnings, pondering whether dinner would be bread or fish.

Priest Muir saw off the day’s final believer—a girl barely eight, who had only recently embraced Kale the God of Holy Light.

The church nuns adored her, seeing in her a reflection of Pascal’s younger self. They now debated visiting her home to ask her parents’ permission for her to join the convent.

Muir offered no opinion. All must follow the girl’s own heart.

He would never force faith upon another—not even Pascal years ago, whom he only accepted as a nun after confirming her resolve time and again.

"Pascal…"

The priest gazed toward the sunset horizon, eyes fixed on the far distance.

Through hazy clouds and fading light, he saw The Spire—a towering structure piercing the heavens. It stood in the direction of Aether Canyon, the sole Spire within the duchy.

If Muir recalled correctly, today marked Chairman Noah’s first time bringing Pascal into The Spire.

Memories of past chairmen’s grim fates surfaced. His expression tightened slightly. *Please, let Pascal avoid trouble.*

He held a favorable impression of Noah. He truly hoped the man would stay—to lead the Azure Round Table through hardship, toward a brighter future.

"Father, what are you looking at?"

At that moment, Laisa, the church’s eldest nun, stepped out.

Reverence shimmered in her eyes as she regarded Muir’s handsome face. Evening light touched her lips, drawing a faint smile. "Worrying about Pascal again?"

Priest Muir sighed. "You know… Pascal is… special."

"Her constitution sets her apart from all other nuns," Laisa said meaningfully, her gaze steady on him. "And from you."

Muir smiled, understanding. "The Holy Light within her is purer than mine—purer than any I’ve ever witnessed. To speak boldly… she feels like an incarnation of Kale on earth. In that sense, she belongs to none of us."

As he spoke, the twilight dimmed further.

Muir’s expression shadowed with the deepening sky.

"But that isn’t what troubles me."

Sister Laisa frowned. "Then what worries you, Father?"

Muir turned to her, earnest. "I fear what happened that night might affect Pascal."

"You mention this again…" Laisa shook her head gently. "I’ve said it before—our Divine Lord Kariel cannot be tainted. Your perception that night must have erred."

"Perhaps."

Muir did not argue. He lightly clenched his right fist over his heart, listening to its rhythm. "But even if my senses misled me and Divine Lord Kariel remains pure… our sect has surely faced turmoil. If I was shaken, then Pascal—far more attuned to the Holy Light—must have…"

He left the rest unsaid.

Though long-lived, he felt fear anew—a cold, unseen flame searing his heart, stealing rest these past nights.

Lately, a nightmare haunted him: amid endless mist and stars, a blurred, chaotic shadow wandered freely through Divine Lord Kariel’s paradise.

"It’s alright, Father."

Sensing his unease, Laisa placed a gentle hand on his back. "Perhaps you need quiet meditation."

"I…"

Before Muir could continue, a young nun appeared at the street’s end. Disheveled and breathless, she rushed toward the church without regard for decorum.

"Father! Sister Laisa!" she gasped, face pale, eyes wide with panic. "Something terrible has happened!"

"Slow down," Priest Muir said calmly—her distress steadying his own. "What is it?"

The nun lifted her head, voice trembling. "The Third Church of the Southern Continent… and the First Church of the Northern Continent… have declared war!"

The evening glow vanished.

Darkness fell upon the world.

The church in Arvin Hamlet sank into deathly silence.

...

...

Night.

Four weary figures trudged down the moonlit street toward the guild hall.

Pale moonlight guided their path, gilding one graceful silhouette.

Monica waited by the gate. Her black dress swayed softly in the breeze; sheer stockings hugged shapely legs above delicate cloth shoes. Poised and patient, she had clearly been waiting long.

Nearby, the four staggered arm-in-arm—like drunken revelers at first glance.

But Monica recognized them instantly. A maid’s elegant smile graced her lips as she lifted her skirt and gave a gentle curtsy.

"Welcome back, Chairman."

"Monica, lend a hand…" Noah groaned, shifting the Avianwing girl off his back. "This one’s heavy… doesn’t look like much, yet weighs a ton?"

"Shirley is an Avianwing warrior. Their muscles are naturally denser," Monica explained while supporting Shirley. Noting the girl was merely exhausted but conscious, she added with quiet curiosity, "How did today’s climb of The Spire go?"

"Reasonably smooth," Noah replied wearily. "We breached the fourth floor, but Pascal’s Holy Light depleted. Needed to retreat for recovery."

Monica’s smile warmed. "Your strategy proved wise. Breaking four floors in one day—truly impressive foresight."

"Inside first."

Normally, Noah might blush at her praise. Tonight, bone-tired, he only wished to settle the others safely before resting.

Truthfully, it shouldn’t have been this draining.

Anna’s Ritual Magic to lure, Pascal’s "Solar Descent" to finish—it should have been effortless.

But the fourth floor held a fiercely agile monstrous bird.

While pecking Anna’s decoy corpse, it detected Pascal’s Solar Holy Light, dodged swiftly—though scorched wingless, it fought fiercely.

A grueling battle ensued. Victory came, but at great cost.

Yet hope remained: they had conquered the fourth floor.

Rest tonight. Push hard tomorrow. Breach the fifth. Claim the Azure Round Table’s reward.

Debt loomed close—but at this pace, repayment, even prosperity, felt within reach.

Noah entered his office.

Moonlight spilled across the aged wooden floor.

He collapsed onto the sofa instead of his chair, letting soft cushions soothe his aching back.

Relief washed through him, melting fatigue, sharpening thought.

This reborn body needed no sleep; rest alone restored vigor.

"Even undeath has its perks…" he murmured, sighing deeply. After a quiet moment, his mind returned to the day’s climb.

Breaking four floors was monumental—for others, trivial; for the Azure Round Table, near-impossible.

Without that ruby, he’d never have matched the guild’s record so swiftly.

So… what truly happened?

He glanced at the window.

Soul leaving body. Ascending on the spot. The floating sensation—vivid, undeniable.

No mere vision. He’d wandered somewhere unknown, casually retrieved a divine relic…

Of Kale the God of Holy Light—one of the Twelve Sovereign Gods.

Had he reached that realm by will? Or pure accident?

Who were those starry giants? Why different tongues? Why see *him*? Why heed his careless provocation?

Questions tangled beyond sorting.

…Try again tonight?

Knock, knock, knock.

A voice followed: "Chairman, may we enter?"

Noah hadn’t expected Monica after dark. He straightened in his chair, composing a dignified chairman’s posture.

Authority mattered. If the "Father of Great Men" image cracked, these eccentric lunatics might stop listening—and that would be trouble.

"Enter."

The door opened.

Monica wheeled in a deep-blue dining table laden with steaming dishes and flickering candles.

Wine and stew scents mingled. Thick sauce glazed fish. Melted cheese draped seared cutlets. Countless delicacies filled the table, fragrant and inviting.

Noah stared, stunned.

"What is this?"

"Tonight’s dinner," Monica smiled. "A reward for your hard work."

Noah froze.

*Where did they get the money?*