Chapter 328: Why Are You So Skilled?

"My Lord... my Lord... my most exalted, most supreme Lord..."

The keening wail was like a ghost’s sob, echoing through the forest now returned to calm.

The priest’s eyes were vacant as he collapsed to his knees, as if all soul had been drained from him.

"My Lord... why did You abandon me? Why withdraw Your love from me? Did I do something wrong? Was I not pious enough? Was it..."

"Simple."

A cool voice sounded, yet struck the priest’s heart like a bell:

"Your lord does not love you."

"..."

The priest’s trembling body suddenly froze. He cast an empty glance at Muen, then lowered his head to stare at the Holy Codex in his hands.

Once, that codex had recorded the oracles he had heard from the gods over the years—the proof that the great, supreme, and exalted deities loved him, loved the world.

But now, upon those pages already yellowed with age, nothing remained but blankness.

Was it taken away along with Divine Grace?

"So... that’s how it is."

The priest stared at those empty pages.

—The Holy Codex was no longer holy. It was just a useless, tattered book.

He had nothing left.

The gods did not love him.

The gods did not love the world.

"So I was deceived... by the Lord I had devoutly worshiped all along."

"Pft..."

In that instant, it seemed not ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) only the priest’s faith shattered, but his heart as well.

Scalding blood surged from his throat in great gouts, staining the codex in his hands red, and carrying away the last glimmer in his eyes.

For a believer of boundless piety, what could be more painful than being abandoned by the god he worshiped?

This pain and despair were a hundred times more dreadful than death.

The priest’s body went limp and toppled to the ground.

No more sound.

...

"So... he actually worked himself to death?"

After cautiously watching a while and making sure the priest was truly dead and not playing some trick, Muen edged closer, lowered his head, and looked into the priest’s still-dilated pupils, where despair lingered.

"I haven’t even started my trash talk yet, and he just up and died spitting blood?"

"That’s what you get for stanning the wrong idol."

Muen clicked his tongue and shook his head:

"Kid, those Evil Gods are each more despicable and cunning than the last. You can’t handle them."

To be safe, Muen reached out and rummaged loosely over the priest, but found nothing at all. Aside from the robe on his body—washed so much it was nearly white—he didn’t even have a single spatial magitech item.

Huh?

As if he’d noticed something, Muen pinched at an unstained corner of the codex the priest had cherished so dearly and flipped back and forth.

At his fingertips, a spark flashed now and then. After a careful inspection, Muen quickly confirmed:

This really was just an ordinary piece of junk.

Not a remnant left after the Love God swallowed away graces, but from beginning to end, a blank copybook you could buy for under ten Emile on the street—usually used by clerics to copy catechisms.

There had never been any Holy Codex.

Nor any oracle.

Everything was just his pathetic delusion.

And that delusion, in the end, invited a calamity all too real.

"I see."

Muen shut the pages and stuffed the “codex” back into the priest’s arms, speaking with pity:

"Nothing but a madman."

...

"So... it’s finally over?"

After casually digging a hole to bury the priest, Muen basked in the long-lost quiet, plopped onto the ground, and let out a long breath.

When the priest had started praying out of nowhere, he thought he was about to have another “wonderful” heart-pounding encounter with a newly-arrived Evil God.

Nearly scared the piss out of him.

Turned out it was the Love God.

Good thing it was the Love God.

As expected of the Love God.

That prudence—the iron rule of never making a move without over eighty percent certainty. That decisiveness—bolting the instant things looked bad. That chic attitude—eat your fill, wipe your mouth, and take zero responsibility. Swap in any other Evil God and ask which of them could do all that?

They’d all feel ashamed and admit they couldn’t.

"It’s just a bit too draining."

After a self-check to make sure Crimson Flame had repaired most of his injuries, Muen still couldn’t help but sigh at the hollow emptiness inside.

All told, he’d been fighting continuously for a long time.

And every time, it was a cross-realm battle he had to go all out for.

Just thinking about it felt absurd.

When other protagonists pose against enemies, at least they follow plot logic and line up to die in a staircase. Why was everyone so vicious when it came to him?

Think about the people who’d shown up—each and every one a super powerhouse whose realm surpassed his by a massive stretch. For a wastrel young master whose greatest ambition was to live well and cling to pretty girls’ thighs, was that really necessary?

What level was he at? Just a mere Third-Rank martial artist—and he couldn’t even use magic. How was he supposed to win? A few months ago he’d been a delicate pretty boy whose strength didn’t even beat a maid’s!

"But... compared to the crises I ran into before, you guys are still way off."

Muen curled his lips—not sure if mocking others or himself.

Moments ago, those raging graces had cleared away the vast giant trees around him and the deep humus underfoot, so Muen sprawled comfortably on the soft sand, looking up at the blue sky and the clouds turning gentle overhead.

As they’d made their way south, the temperature had become especially pleasant now.

"Next—do I keep going in the direction Liya disappeared, or wait here?"

"The enemy’s been so urgent, in theory the forest’s edge shouldn’t be far. If Liya made it out and brings people back, it’s just a matter of time."

"As for Barton... a fool like Barton won’t give up so easily, and won’t be back so soon."

"In any case, rest well first... I need to recover my strength."

As his eyelids grew heavy, Muen slowly closed his eyes.

Sleep crept in and his consciousness blurred.

Only, in the moment before darkness fell completely, the corner of Muen’s eye suddenly caught a wisp of gauzy mist.

Hm?

Something’s off!

A certain keen intuition jumped in the depths of his mind, jolting Muen awake in an instant.

He sprang up, eyes wide, scanning around.

All was still calm.

Very calm.

The hint of mist from before could be chalked up to lingering eddies after graces dissipated. Nothing seemed amiss.

Except...

It felt like he’d forgotten something.

Muen clutched his head, sinking into thought.

The bad feeling only grew stronger. His expression darkened; he drew Elizabeth again, crossed the blades, and gave them a light tap.

The Alchemy Domain of arcs spread out, enveloping him.

The Alchemy Domain could block aura—but not only that.

It could also block certain negative effects.

If any were present.

"...Wait."

As the domain took shape, a spark of insight suddenly flashed through Muen’s mind.

His pupils tightened; he started counting on his fingers.

"The priest and the Hyena are dead; Barton went after Liya.

But there should be one more. There were four—yes, four...

The remaining one was a mage...

Mage Fular!"

Muen snapped his head up.

And as the name came back to him, the faint ground-mist in the woods suddenly billowed and piled up like it was blown by a great wind.

But no wind stirred here.

What was driving the mist... was mana!

A vast mass, gradually building into a great spell—and all the while Muen had completely failed to sense it!

At the same time, a voice rang from within the rolling fog—

"Ahh—so you noticed after all?"

"But noticing now means nothing. It’s already too late."

"Have you prepared your last words, Muen Campbell!"

Threaded through the voice were thin strands of hatred and the thrill of imminent revenge. Muen’s gaze kept chasing the sound, but it drifted and slipped about—impossible to pin down.

"That just now... was that also magic?"

Muen’s face sank.

He had indeed gotten too absorbed in fighting the priest, but he couldn’t possibly be so careless as to directly forget a living, breathing person!

So it had to be some kind of magic—and he’d been tagged the moment he confirmed the priest was truly dead and let his guard down!

"That’s right. Magic."

Not seeming in any rush to strike, Fular said:

"Magic that erases presence. Pretty niche, right? Useless in a face-to-face fight, but so long as your attention gets completely drawn away by someone else like just now, this magic becomes a god-tier technique that’s super handy!"

"...I really did underestimate you."

Muen’s expression darkened as he tightened his grip on the blades.

Because Fular had been crippled by him at the start—and with her always having such a low presence among the four—plus that fierce clash with the priest, the effect of this magic... shot through the roof.

So much so that Fular’s presence had dropped out of his subconscious entirely. She’d been building a spell right under his eyelids, and he hadn’t noticed a thing!

As expected—no matter when, the first rule of team fights is kill the mage first, huh?

A pity, though.

Back then, just a little more and...

"But did you think that’d be enough to deal with me?"

Muen’s eyes sharpened. He turned toward the direction of the new voice and sneered:

"You should’ve seen clearly how my fight with the priest played out, right? Even with the initiative, do you really think you’re my match?"

Crimson firelight lit in his eyes, giving his expression a sovereign gravity.

No matter what, Fular’s threat level should be far beneath the priest’s...

But all he heard was laughter—mocking laughter.

"Yes, I saw it—saw it crystal clear."

"Who’d have thought it—who’d have thought the useless duke’s son of rumor would actually be a bearer of Divine Favor. Our employer really screwed us over."

"So..."

Muen’s eyes narrowed.

"Heh, and so what? Divine Favor isn’t invincible. On the contrary, because it’s fixed in capability, a little observation is enough to find countermeasures."

Fular chuckled coldly and continued:

"For example, from your performance just now, you don’t have any ranged means, right? That terrifying flame of yours needs contact—or at least close range—to work.

Even if it can burn everything, with nothing to target, you can’t do a thing!"

"...Aren’t you afraid I’ve got other moves I haven’t shown?" Muen paused, then threatened in a low voice.

"Of course I’m afraid."

Fular’s voice remained airy, making it impossible for Muen to fix her position.

"That’s why I’ve prepared spells for both offense and escape."

"I’ll probe first. If it turns out you really do have some other terrifying move, I’ll run without hesitation."

"But if you’re just a lion who’s bled nearly dry, already at the end of your rope..."

Her tone flipped, threaded with knife-cold and excitement:

"Then that billion—I’ll be taking it all for myself!"

"Relax, I’ll pay you back for before real good. You’re not the only one who can use dirty tricks to ambush!"

Fwish—

As her words fell, the mist in the woods around Muen surged all the fiercer. With the suffocating shift, bright motes began to light one after another, bringing the threat of ultimate death.

Damn—she means it!

Muen’s heart clenched. Forget whether it exposed him—Crimson Flame billowed up in great waves.

Block it first, at all costs.

If he couldn’t block it, then with the toughness of his body and Crimson Flame’s power to restore, maybe...

"Splurt—"

In that split second—lightning-fast—Muen’s thoughts hadn’t even fully unfolded when a clear sound of flesh being torn echoed through the hush before the spell’s release.

All too clear.

Crimson Flame instantly recoiled into his body. Muen blinked, bewildered, and looked down—his hands patting anxiously all over himself.

Huh?

Didn’t seem hurt...

And the spell hadn’t even had time to fire...

Then that sound...

"Eh?"

From within the fog came a strange, soft exclamation.

Then the mist and motes before Muen wavered and fell apart.

And Fular’s figure emerged.

She stood straight, wand in hand.

Vast mana still rippled around her, slow to disperse.

But at this moment she had bowed her head to stare at her belly, disbelief on her face.

Because there, from her abdomen, a half-length of blade was protruding.

A blade of Holy Light.

"Puh—ha..."

A great gush of blood flowed out like it cost nothing. Her eyes were still blank with confusion:

"Wh... why..."

"B... because."

Another voice sounded behind her:

"Hid... hiding my presence, then using dirty tricks to ambush... I... I can do that too."

The voice sounded terribly delicate, even trembling. But Fular felt those hands gripping the blade were exceptionally strong.

She forced her head around to look at that face—so unbearably cute, so soft and adorable—a face she had never once, from beginning to end, considered a threat:

"You... where’s Barton? Why... wasn’t she..."

"She’s already dead."

Liya said solemnly:

"I killed her."

With that, under Fular’s “seen-a-ghost” stare, Liya yanked the Holy Light blade free and then kicked Fular sprawling.

Before she could even feel the stab of pain come flaring back in her gut, Fular sensed a figure press down atop her.

The figure wasn’t heavy, but Fular—a mage, nothing more—couldn’t break free from Liya’s plainly enhanced strength. She could only let the girl sit astride her and then...

Raise the blade.

"Don’t be scared, don’t be scared..."

Blood colored half the girl’s cheek, and fear and struggle welled in her eyes—but she still gripped the blade tight, whispering nonstop:

"The book says—facing bad people, you must finish them off."

"That’s right—finish them."

"Finish them."

With that, the girl suddenly bent down and—skillfully—drove the blade into Fular’s heart.

Then.

She twisted hard.

Twisted viciously.

...

Not far away—

Watching, dumbstruck, Muen suddenly shivered, baring his teeth as a phantom ache prickled across his skin for no reason.

"Weird... why does Liya look so skilled at stabbing people?"