"I am the Third Seat of the Salvation Society—the Witch of Repentance."

The woman’s gentle voice echoed through the silent night sky. It was neither majestic nor frightening. If anything, it carried a warm softness, like a spring breeze brushing against the skin... and yet the meaning contained in those few words was enough to make all of Muen and the others’ hearts lurch violently.

"The Salvation Society? The Third Seat?"

Manipulating black flames to repair the wound in his chest as quickly as possible, Muen tugged at the corner of his mouth by reflex.

"Just a moment ago I was thinking you people didn’t seem to care all that much about this operation. Who knew even the Third Seat would show up personally... Think we can go back to those better times when we were just playing around with clown plans?"

It was not that Muen was being especially cowardly. The title alone—Third Seat, Witch of Repentance—was enough to place enormous pressure on anyone.

According to the doctrine of the Salvation Society’s First Seat, the Holy Lord of Salvation, humanity’s monstrous sins had to be judged and cleansed by the Ark of Purification, which represented the will of the world.

And upon that Ark of Purification, there were only nine seats—nine positions fit to guide the humans who would survive the cleansing of sin into a brand-new age. To the Salvation Society itself, each seat symbolized supreme honor, representing one who led the Ark forward in the name of the world.

Muen glanced sideways at Ariel. In the name of the world, my ass. It was obviously just cult-leader nonsense meant to fool people. Otherwise, instead of trying to assassinate the Church’s Saintess, the most urgent thing they should be doing right now was rushing Ariel—the Child of Destiny—back home and setting her on an altar.

But whether or not the Salvation Society’s holy-sounding nonsense held any truth, there was one thing they had not lied about.

Those referred to only by "Seat Number So-and-So" truly were special, exalted beings, because there were only nine of them in the entire Salvation Society, and every single one of them... was a top-tier powerhouse at the Crowned or Truth-Rank.

They were infamous, all of them wanted by the Church or by nations across the continent. The world called them lunatics, blasphemers, murderers—monsters who had left mountains of blood debt behind them in one incident after another.

And aside from the handful who had gotten too bold under the Church’s nose and ended up crashing and burning, the rest were still alive and well, roaming the shadows of the world while every nation and every force could do nothing about them.

There was only one reason.

These lunatics who wanted to wipe out all humanity were simply strong enough.

The Fourth Seat, Ghostshadow, who had appeared in the Holy City; the Sixth Seat, the Clown; and even the Second Seat, the Black Knight, with whom he had once "fought side by side" in the Abyss—every one of them was the kind of figure who could stir up a continent-wide storm by personal strength alone.

But for Muen... this was the first time he had truly come face to face with one of those powerful madmen.

"Not very serious about it? No. So long as it is something that can make that hypocritical Church suffer, we have always given it our full effort."

The woman’s voice let out a sigh.

"It is simply unfortunate that there are always ignorant fools who insist on obstructing our purification of this world. So we are forced to be a little more cautious."

"Have you considered purifying your own brains first?" Muen suggested sincerely. "Might help with the way you think everything you look at is filthy because your heads are so full of filth."

"Heh. As expected of the Lion King’s son. That sharp tongue of yours is even more impressive than the rumors said."

The woman’s voice drifted on lazily.

"But that’s just as well. Your excellence—your charm, enough to make even the Empire’s Empress fall—does not have no use."

"What do you mean?" Muen frowned, sensing trouble.

"Very simple."

The woman’s voice seemed to smile.

"Our attempt to assassinate the Saintess was always meant to create chaos within the Empire... and now it appears that killing you would produce much the same effect. And that little girl beside you, the one named Ariel—if she dies, that ought to be enough to make Saintess Liya grieve too, shouldn’t it?"

"You think Celicia and Liya would waver over something like that?"

Muen’s expression did not change.

"Then you’re underestimating them."

"Will they, or won’t they?"

Somewhere far, far from Belrand, the Witch of Repentance curled her lips into a smile cold and cruel.

"Since we’ve already come this far, why not give it a try? There’s an old saying... It doesn’t cost anything, so why not try a little of everything, hm?"

The blood-red lotus bloomed with wicked beauty. The pale arm cradled among the stamens turned gracefully, then spread its five fingers, as if preparing to grasp the entire ducal estate... in its palm.

"One-minute countdown. Let us begin this... hunting game."

Her flippant, smiling words echoed through the barrier, yet carried a booming force no less than colliding mountain stone.

And the instant those words fell, Muen’s breathing stopped.

The death warning in his mind, which had begun as a buzzing hum, instantly sharpened into a shrill needle-like scream. The hand in the blood lotus had barely moved, and already an indescribable chill was climbing up his spine.

Muen was afraid.

Not just him—even Ariel and An beside him were trembling slightly before that terrifying power on the verge of being unleashed.

This had nothing to do with courage or cowardice.

It was simply the body’s instinctive reaction.

An instinctive fear... of power too great for them to touch.

Only a single hand had crossed the endless distance to reach them—but it was not a clone, not a projection, not power cast through some object.

It was a genuine Crowned one.

A real one they would have to face head-on.

"Ariel! An!"

Without the slightest hesitation, Muen pushed his time-slow to the limit again. The force of more than a hundred layered bursts condensed into a single blade-flash. The muscles in his arm swelled, blood mist leaking from his pores as he forced himself to squeeze out every last drop of potential, making that slash hang in the sky like a brilliant white moon, lighting the night.

The Witch of Repentance called it a hunting game. In this world written by Zi Yu Wo Fei Yu, they were prey in the enemy’s eyes—but Muen knew that even as prey, they had to strike first, because from the moment the blood-red lotus bloomed, escape had already become impossible.

To show your back to a Crowned one at this distance was no different from courting death.

Ariel and An naturally understood that as well. The instant they grasped the situation, each of them unleashed their strongest attack without reserve, sending it upward with Muen’s blade-light in a reverse slash toward the sky.

On one side, Heavenfire surged vast and roaring.

On the other, a cage of proliferating steel.

Cold iron and blazing flame merged in the sky, and at the center of them both was a red even brighter than blood—even brighter than that enchanting lotus.

Terrible power intertwined, brewed, and broke loose, making the entire ducal estate tremble. Even the sky darkened beneath it, the stars losing their light.

Compared to such overwhelming force, the blood-red lotus looked almost laughably fragile, like a tender flower under a violent downpour, something that ought to wither and collapse at any second.

...But it did not.

The blood-red lotus continued blooming in complete abandon. ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Only the pale hand at its center moved—still reaching downward, pressing lightly.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

The jade-white hand was soft and flawless, as beautiful as a first love.

And yet within that palm, it seemed as though peals of muffled thunder were exploding one after another.

No—that was not thunder.

It was the sound of attacks as ridiculous as firecrackers tossed by children, shattering one after another before an absolute difference in power.

The blade-light was crushed.

Heavenfire was smothered out.

Steel was torn apart.

Blazing red vanished into darkness.

Just like before, the combined assault of Muen, Ariel, and An accomplished nothing.

All of it happened within the span of a heartbeat, all of it within the tiny space under that single hand.

The combined attack of the three of them had shaken heaven and earth—only to be snuffed out with casual ease in the blink of an eye.

"So this is a Heaven-Bestowed Crown... a body near divinity?"

The final brilliance of those extinguished attacks reflected in Muen’s eyes, followed by the even more despairing stillness that came after them. He could not help sucking in a cold breath.

Now this was genuinely terrifying.

He had faced a clone of King Yintuo before. He had also witnessed Crowned-level battles more than once.

But only when truly facing such an existence did one understand what Crowned meant.

Why was it that, under normal circumstances, the first five tiers of martial artists were always suppressed by mages of the same rank—yet once one reached Crowned, the situation reversed against Truth-Rank?

Because the step from fifth rank to Crowned was not merely a rise in realm.

It was a rise in the level of life itself.

It was the evolution from human... to something no longer human.

As long as one had not yet become Crowned—even if the difference was no more than a single step from the threshold—the gulf between the two sides was still nearly impossible to cross.

"So, do you understand now?"

The countdown continued, yet the Witch of Repentance did not hurry to attack. Instead, she displayed her mercy with leisurely calm.

"This is the difference between us. If you give up resisting now, I can still grant you a death that is not quite so painful."

"Really? As expected of a witch called Repentance. So kind of you."

Muen showed the handsome smile that had killed countless ignorant young girls.

"Then could you let us think about it for a bit? Not long. One minute... no, wait, fifty seconds will do. In fifty seconds I’ll give you my answer."

"Of course... not."

The blood-red lotus spun gracefully. Though there was only a hand here, and Muen could not see the witch’s face, he could still hear the smile in her voice.

"The amount of time you are allowed to think... is only an instant."

Such cold, bone-piercing amusement.

It felt as though Muen’s soul itself had frozen.

Luckily, however, he had already experienced the pressure of overwhelmingly stronger opponents more times than he could count.

So many times that he had almost grown used to it.

He was not affected.

Thus, when the Witch of Repentance suddenly discovered Muen flashing into existence directly in front of the blood-red lotus, even she could not help being startled for a moment.

"I’ve seen plenty of people like you—showing up all cocky the instant you make an entrance!"

Muen forced himself upstream against the crushing pressure, face twisted savagely.

"And every single one of them ended up with their so-called grandeur smashed flat into the dirt!"

Shing—

The blade flashed again.

But this time, it was not a long-distance slash. This time, it was a close-range strike.

From the moment of that first attack, Muen had already understood that ranged attacks posed no threat to someone on this level.

So that earlier strike had only been a feint. Its purpose was to let him close the distance.

And once he was close enough—

Black flames swept outward, swallowing the lotus’s eerie glow, devouring the force of repulsion that blocked his advance.

With the centerline wide open, Muen did not hesitate for even a heartbeat. Tightening his grip on both blades, he slashed at the pale white arm.

Every other force might be useless, but the devouring power of the black flames and the sharpness of Elizabeth—surely even a Crowned one would—

"For prey, you are really... stubborn."

The Witch of Repentance laughed softly. Two slender fingers came together and, despite the distance, pinched the blade in place, preventing it from advancing even an inch.

"Heh. Is that so..."

Muen was not disappointed by the blocked attack. Instead, he bared his teeth in a grin.

"Looks like I’m not the only stubborn one here."

Drip.

Somewhere among the ruins on the ground, a broken clock was still stubbornly ticking onward.

And in that instant, the hands suddenly jumped, as if an unremarkable segment of time had been cut away, skipping directly into the next position.

"Oh?"

Far away beyond measure, the Witch of Repentance raised an eyebrow faintly.

Was it because she had only sent over a single hand?

Her reaction... had suddenly slowed by a full second?

"Ugly hag, die!"

The greatsword called Heavenfire burned brighter than ever before. Arcane runes flowed along the blade, flame sweeping out and then suddenly condensing into a blinding torrent.

One second was enough for Ariel to close in soundlessly. There was no fear of the strong in her eyes—only the sight of the blood on Muen’s chest in the corner of her vision, and the surge of fury that followed.

As for An, there was no need to say much. Her pretty little face had already darkened enough to drip water. The gigantic scythe in her hand swung, fighting aura so dense it was nearly solid wrapping around it, every sweep leaving black scars across space itself.

"Die!"

With Muen drawing the witch’s attention, the killing blows of the two women arrived at the same time!

...

...

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Blood fell from the sky, splashing onto the broken stone and rubble below.

Nearly half the ducal estate had already been reduced to ruins in this battle. Not only the artworks Duke Campbell had treasured most, but even the entire courtyard had long since lost every trace of its former beauty and life.

"What an excellent display."

And in the sky above, the scene seemed to freeze.

Among the spread petals, the Witch of Repentance’s index and middle fingers still held off Muen’s slash, while her ring finger and little finger merely tapped lightly.

It was only a single hand. It could not perform anything too absurd, much less move all five fingers separately.

Yet with that seemingly casual tap, ripples spread through space itself, stopping the blazing fire and sword intent completely before they could arrive.

From the very heart of the lotus petals, it felt as though a gaze had cast down from some immeasurable distance away, passing over Muen with faint mockery, then sweeping across Ariel and An, both gritting their teeth and resisting with all their strength.

Ariel glared back without the slightest fear. An’s hands were already bloodied, yet she still wanted to force her giant scythe forward by even one more inch.

"Unfortunately, it still isn’t enough."

The result of their perfectly timed pincer attack was that every strike had been stopped. Flame or blades, none of it could inflict the slightest harm on the blood-red lotus.

Black flames leapt and danced, but they simply could not touch the enemy right before them.

In the end, there was only a single drop of blood seeping from the witch’s fingertip.

That was right. The all-out, life-risking strike of Muen, Ariel, and An had done no more than draw one drop of blood from her finger.

And yet for her, that alone was already enough to be surprised by.

"As a Crowned one, to be wounded by those who are not Crowned—I wonder how many years it has been since I last encountered such a thing? To achieve even this much, you should be proud."

The Witch of Repentance spoke with exaggerated admiration. Then her spread fingers slowly closed.

Into a fist.

Then...

she struck downward lightly.

Boom!

All three of them were blasted backward, like falling meteors, slamming into the earth in an instant and throwing up massive clouds of dust.

"Damn..."

Blood churned in Muen’s throat. He felt the chest he had only just repaired cave in all over again.

He braced himself and tried to rise, but an overwhelming force crushed down on him and forced him flat once more.

The blood-red lotus descended slowly to the ground. Amid the opening petals, the hand somehow produced a pocket watch from nowhere.

"Hm. Thirty seconds left. More or less as expected."

The Witch of Repentance spoke softly.

"Even I must admit you are extraordinary talents, the sort not easily found across the entire continent. But in the end... you are still only brats who smell of milk. You can’t make much of a wave."

"Really? Then how about giving me another twenty seconds... no, make it ten. Ten seconds is enough. In ten seconds, I promise I’ll beat you until you piss yourself."

Showing his teeth, Muen stalled for time while his mind raced for some way to survive this dead end.

The Black Book... Black Book... damn it, that busted thing is useless every time it matters!

His thoughts flew frantically, but with mounting despair he realized that before this kind of pure, unembellished gap in strength, there was no escaping unless outside help appeared.

The witch’s countdown was probably real. Before time ran out, that stinking bear was not going to notice what was happening here—he was probably still kneeling on durians somewhere. But right now Muen had already used every method he had, Ariel and An were both badly wounded, and neither of them could possibly unleash another attack like before.

So what now?

Should he try praying to the Withering King and see whether that disconnected shriveled bastard had it in him to descend heroically for once?

"Ten seconds? No. I will not be as foolish as Arthur. I do not know what little scheme you are plotting, but I will not give you the chance."

The Witch of Repentance raised a finger and aimed it at Muen from afar.

He felt no gathering of force at all, and yet the clearest death premonition he had ever experienced told him that what came next would absolutely be a killing blow.

With death hanging over his head, Muen could not help holding his breath, preparing for one last struggle—

"Hey."

And just then, along with a kindly greeting, the Witch of Repentance’s movement abruptly froze.

No—it was not just her. Even the night breeze, even the dust drifting with the wind, all froze together.

Muen froze as well, his eyes widening on instinct.

At that moment, everything here felt as though it had been printed into a painting.

Perhaps it was only an instant.

Or perhaps it was very long indeed.

At last the blood-red lotus began to move again, and with it the gaze cast from thousands of miles away turned toward the opposite side.

A figure walked out of the dust.

Ariel Bugaard.

One of the overconfident little insects the witch had suppressed with casual ease a moment ago.

By all rights, just like Muen Campbell, she should have lost all ability to resist under that attack.

And yet she was still standing.

Standing there ordinarily, as if nothing were strange at all. Blood still stained her face from her earlier injury. But there was a smile on that bloodstained little face, and within those black eyes was a depth and weariness so vast even the witch could not read it.

"Hey, young lady."

"Ariel" asked in a gentle voice,

"That brat you were talking about... who exactly were you referring to?"