The white-robed priest was dead.
But he left behind a tangled web of mysteries.
The Sacred Flame dissipated with his passing.
Recalling their final exchange, Noah had reason to suspect—the priest might have… seen something on him.
Something that invited death merely by being glimpsed… now clinging to Noah himself.
Could it be the true form of that chaotic entity?
Noah lowered his head, staring at his palms.
His guess was likely correct.
Anna’s resurrection ritual… must have mixed in something else.
Those strange presences altered what should have been a doomed Ritual Magic, yanking Noah back from the Goddess of Death’s grasp.
But what *were* they?
Evil gods? Ancient deities? Great Old Ones? Or something else entirely?
Anything that turns people into meatballs just by being looked at… couldn’t possibly be good.
The mere thought of a giant octopus tattooed on his back—more terrifying than Satan—sent goosebumps rippling across Noah’s skin. He’d scared himself.
The secrets bound to him ran deeper than he imagined.
“I hope I’m not possessed by some ancient god…”
Noah muttered under his breath, recalling bizarre rituals from his past life. He shuddered three times.
He’d heard lunatics summoning elder horrors with blood and severed limbs, or gathering psychos in pitch-black rooms for… *those* kinds of parties.
Sadly, the priest spilled no concrete clues.
Noah could only feel his way forward, step by step.
His fear vanished as quickly as it came. Noah steeled himself, scanning the battlefield for where he might help.
Maybe his face could scare a few more priests to death.
Turned out, he’d worried for nothing.
The four white-robed priests had burned through most of their Sacred Flame in the first strike, arriving to mop up the field.
Instead, ambushed by two Undying Ones, caught off guard, failing to dodge—and one inexplicably killed by Noah—they now had little fight left.
Aelia slew another priest. Leaning on her sword, she knelt, slowly reverting to human form, gasping for air.
Anna, meanwhile, was still “exchanging martial arts” with her original foe. Realizing magic failed against her, the priest resorted to fists and feet, aiming to dismantle her bone by bone.
A Ritual Mage and a church priest brawling wildly—clumsy swings, rising uppercuts, low kicks to the groin. Perfectly matched. Utterly chaotic.
One couldn’t call it eerie. It was downright absurd.
After minutes of grueling combat, Anna knocked the priest out—at the cost of six or seven broken ribs. She straightened her spine proudly, raised a fist, and declared victory.
Just like that, the four priests—who moments ago loomed like high-difficulty BOSSes—were wiped out.
…
…
The Sacred Flame faded.
All four priests lay incapacitated.
Aelia and Anna reverted to human form. Scorched by Sacred Flame, their armor and robes turned to ash, revealing their bare, snow-pale bodies.
Noah politely covered his eyes—but not before catching two unavoidable glances: Aelia’s full chest, slender waist, a scar tracing her back.
Aelia hastily strapped on scavenged armor pieces, clutching her chest, face still pale with lingering dread.
Anna was blunter. She looted robes from her unconscious foe, spun barefoot in the new garb like a giggling girl, then pattered back to Noah.
“Reporting to the Guild Master!” Anna snapped an awkward salute, beaming. “Anna Carole completed the mission! Requesting reward!”
“Like hell I will.”
Noah flicked her forehead. “Not over yet. Talk later.”
“Not over?” Anna blinked, glancing skyward.
No white light signaled the trial’s end.
Even with all priests defeated, the ancient battlefield refused to release them.
“Weird,” Anna muttered, scratching her head. “Does this mean we’re living *altered* history? Nothing matches the books!”
Noah glanced toward Aelia. “I think it’s the opposite.”
Anna caught his meaning. “You mean… history lied to us?”
“This was never a glorious chapter,” Noah murmured, sheathing his sword. Charcoal and death hung in the wind. “If the Sacred Flame Sect’s arrival was the Duchy’s plan… erasing it makes perfect sense.”
Sacrificing comrades wasn’t honorable.
Even framed as “necessary sacrifice,” it would stain history books.
So the Duchy would alter records to steady public faith.
In Noah’s past world, certain nations with “pleasant little lives” did the same.
Anna opened her mouth to mock the royals—then froze. “But we’re *inside* The Spire! Aether Spire is the Mediator’s memory—a trial born from it! Every climber before saw the *official* version: mage tower standing, Sacred Flame absent, playing hero as Aether… For nine hundred years. Only *we* broke the pattern.”
“Perhaps not just history was altered,” Pascal said softly.
Noah and Anna turned. Pascal rode Shirley’s back, her flush faded.
Shirley kept eyes squeezed shut, swaying dangerously.
“Open your eyes!” Noah urged. “Steady her! If she blows up, we’re team-wiped!”
“I… I dare not…” Shirley whimpered.
Noah blinked. *Would she die?*
Shirley whispered, trembling: “Shirley saw it… Guild Master, you *scared* that priest to death with your face!”
Noah’s eye twitched. “He didn’t die from ugliness. And you’ve seen my face.”
“True…” Shirley tilted her head. “Then *how* did you scare him?”
“Never mind. I’ll explain later. Even I’m confused.”
Noah had Shirley stand firm, then faced Pascal.
Pascal continued: “The Spire holds the Mediator’s memory. But before becoming Mediator, Aether was just an ordinary being… like us.”
*Ordinary?* Noah thought dryly. *Our team has few of those.*
“So,” Noah summarized, “Aether’s memories were altered—making The Spire mirror the falsified history?”
“Very likely,” Pascal said. “The Spire’s origin is a mystery. But viewed through ‘memory’… this fits.”
Noah nodded.
Aelia approached.
This Spire-born NPC wore snug scavenged armor, silver hair flowing, eyes clear and calm as ever.
Noah paused. Time to lay cards on the table—with Aelia, or what stood behind her.
“What we just lived… is the true history. The hidden memory?”
“Yes.”
Aelia met his gaze. A gentle, apologetic smile touched her lips.
“For this… I am sorry, Mr. Noah.”
