Chapter 381: Where Are They?

When the soul within the prisoner was purified, the glow within the lantern in his hand quickly dimmed as well. All the demon hounds suddenly lost motion, as if turning back into statues.

"Is it over?"

Someone, still shaken, used the wand in their hand to carefully poke a demon hound.

No reaction.

Nor could they sense any flow of magic.

They really weren’t moving.

It really... was over.

"Alive... we’re alive!"

Quite a few people collapsed to the ground as if their strength had left them, revealing the joy of having survived a calamity. After a life-and-death battle on the edge of death, a desperate predicament, the brutal scene of companions having large chunks of flesh, even limbs, torn off by vicious demon hounds before being transmitted out— and... those damned pig-teammates. Those who could still be here now were all wildly elated, nearly moved to tears.

"Yes!"

A dark little figure suddenly flipped up in a carp jump and cheered in delight.

"It’s over, we won’t be eliminated, my sacrifice worked! Long live the Goddess!"

"Worked my ass!"

Next to him, Seviel, whose eyebrows had almost been singed off by the explosion just now, was trembling as she gripped her sword, looking like she could stab this pig-teammate to death right then and there. The others nearby also looked none too friendly:

"Bastard, you almost got everyone killed, do you know that?"

"Heh heh."

Ailag, who had escaped death, scratched his cheek. A flash of light flickered in his eyes, then he gave a shy smile:

"But the result is good, isn’t it."

Seviel rolled her eyes and ignored this piece of trash, turning her quick gaze instead toward the golden-haired figure now standing at the very center of the stage. She fell into a daze. As expected, he really is handsome. If only I could...

Thinking of this, Seviel suddenly bit her lip. Handsome is handsome— it’s just that the cute, coquettish, big-breasted girl beside him looked awfully much in the way. But she also matched that handsome, dashing man awfully well. Still, that Liya is someone who’s to become a Saintess; I should still have a chance.

......

"Tsk, tsk, you’re really not simple, Duke’s son."

Muen had just stepped down from the prisoner when the bearded swordsman Paul came over with the air of an instant buddy, grinning as he slung an arm around Muen’s shoulder:

"From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were anything but simple. You look tender-skinned, but you give the feeling of a lion at rest. My intuition never fails— so, how many monsters did you kill last night? Don’t tell me three or five, I won’t buy it."

"Eleven."

Muen glanced at him and said.

"Roughly."

"Eleven, huh. I only got nine."

Paul’s eyes lit up. "Interested in exchanging notes later—"

"Paul!"

"Reta!"

Before Paul could finish, two angry voices cut him off. He turned his head in confusion to see his Saintess candidate Margarita and, beside her, Anne, both looking furious as they gave orders directly to their knights:

"Kill him for me!"

"Eh?"

Paul froze.

He still had his reason, so of course he couldn’t make a move. But Reta, who obeyed Anne completely, already let out a roar—thud, thud, thud—stomping prints into the ground as he charged forward.

Ignoring Reta for the moment, Paul looked at Muen with a strange expression:

"Did you do something just now?"

"No. I was even praising them."

"Praising?"

"Yes."

Muen said with all seriousness:

"I said they were big."

"How did you say it?" Paul asked curiously.

"Four Aces."

Muen answered candidly:

"You look like you play cards too. Isn’t that big enough?"

Paul: "..."

It is big enough.

But used like that...

Paul patted Muen’s shoulder in admiration and gave a thumbs-up:

"Impressive. When this trial’s over, we might end up friends."

Hearing this, Anne’s face instantly twisted, and Margarita’s deep, noble features turned terribly dark. Paul slunk back to stand before Margarita, wearing a fawning smile as he tried to knead her shoulders—only to have his hands slapped away in intense disgust. As for Reta, when he was still a few steps from Muen, he halted on Anne’s order. The Death-Deed Writ was still in effect; if Reta truly attacked Muen at this moment, he too would die under the power of a terrible curse. So for now, despite being mad enough to kill, there was nothing to be done.

"This grudge—this lady will settle it sooner or later!"

The haughty loli gnashed her teeth; her chest almost puffed up with anger. In all her life, she had never been humiliated like this.

Twice, even!

......

"Congratulations."

Shaking off the death glares from Anne and Margarita, Muen heard a crisp clapping. Freya lightly patted her small hands; her smile remained gentle and saintly, without a single flaw visible:

"After this, I fear no one will again call you the princess’s pretty boy or a soft persimmon for others to knead. After today, the name Muen Campbell will likely spread across the continent."

"Then I really ought to thank you."

Muen shrugged.

"Me?"

Freya blinked. "I don’t understand what Mr. Muen means."

"Leaving aside those two Saintess candidates who were about to make a move—if Miss Freya hadn’t held back, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have had the chance to show off so grandly."

Muen smiled.

"So of course I should thank you."

"Are you mocking me for deliberately holding back?"

Freya pouted slightly. "I’m not like you all— I’m not the fighting type. I even gave up a precious item, and Brian did his part too. How can Mr. Muen say such a thing?"

"Not good at fighting, are you?"

Muen’s gaze flickered; he suddenly looked past her at the pale, black-clad man behind her. Muen truly hadn’t gathered much intel on Freya’s combat abilities, but whether in the newspapers or in rumors from all sides, this God’s Attendant Knight with the nickname “Shadow Ghoul” was a brutally notorious tough guy who dared to wrestle magic beasts head-on at a young age. Yet up to now, he had only been hiding in the rear using magic, like some middle-parted, suspender-wearing simpleton.

"Hmph."

Perhaps noticing Muen’s gaze, Brian snorted coldly, said nothing, and quickly melted into Freya’s shadow. That icy, lapdog-like stare of his remained just as stinging.

"By the way."

Freya gently brushed her long hair aside to block Muen’s line of sight, then turned her wrist and—who knew from where—produced a bouquet of fresh flowers. The pale yellow blossoms carried a heady fragrance, no different from before.

"A rare chance—let me ask again. Mr. Muen, do you want my flowers now?"

"Don’t need them."

Muen answered without expression.

"I see."

Freya stroked the delicate petals and sighed:

"What a pity."

......

Muen returned to Liya’s side and looked at her slightly pale pretty face.

"How do you feel? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine."

Liya held the crystal in her hands and shook her head. "I’m all right."

She was just about to say something when she felt a figure approach and lean gently against her. A familiar, irresistible scent wrapped around her.

"Hm?"

"Ahem, that took a bit out of me."

Muen coughed a few times and said stiffly,

"Let me lean for a bit."

"Oh."

Liya looked at Muen, then suddenly blinked playfully. She leaned her body toward him as well:

"I think I’m a bit spent too."

"...Then we lean together?"

"...Mm. Together."

......

"Now... can we pass through the door?"

After a brief rest, someone suddenly said this. The quiet crowd stirred again. Only this time, no one was eager to rush ahead. Everyone’s eyes, of their own accord, fell on the two figures at the very front, the two who, as if from overexertion, were lightly leaning against each other for support.

After everything just now, these two already had the qualifications to stand at the very front of everyone.

"Then let’s go."

Muen and Liya exchanged a tacit look. Muen bent down, picked up the lantern, checked it briefly, and, confirming it was just an ordinary lantern, flicked his fingers— the lantern lit again. He lifted it and walked at the front. Liya followed closely behind him. After they passed through the Golden Door, first came the Saintess candidates and their knights, then the others, entering in order. After the battle just now and under the effect of the Death-Deed Writ, there was in fact no one looking to make trouble at this time.

The lantern lit the darkness. After a short passage, there was a stairway leading upward. Walking on the stairs at Muen’s side, Liya suddenly asked in a soft voice:

"By the way, Muen, you don’t seem to like Miss Freya, do you?"

"More or less."

"Why?"

"Instinct."

Muen answered: "I feel there’s something on her that makes me uncomfortable."

"I see." Liya nodded.

"What is it?"

Muen looked at her. "Is there a problem?"

"No... it’s just that I think... Miss Freya is a very remarkable person."

"Hm?"

"Isn’t that what the newspapers say? In the southern countries, she cured a plague and saved a lot of people."

Liya’s face was full of admiration. "Someone like that should be a good person, right?"

"A good person?"

Muen smiled. Taking advantage of the moment when the light in the lantern flickered and darkness fell again, he quickly pinched the girl’s wonderfully soft little cheek. "Who can make that clear."

"Hmph."

Liya puffed her cheeks and huffed:

"Anyway, Muen, you’re not a good person."

"Sure, sure, I’m a bad egg. That’s widely recognized— everyone says so."

Muen was about to crack a few jokes when he suddenly broke off, because there was light ahead on the stairs. The end was here. The two looked at each other and quickened their pace. Soon, endless brightness descended, and after a brief adjustment to the light, they took in everything before their eyes.

And then... fell silent.

"Are we there, are we there?"

The crowd behind poured out quickly, and after seeing what lay ahead, they too fell silent. A deathlike silence.

A long time passed.

At last, the cool-headed Margarita was the first to come back to herself. She looked to Muen at her side and asked with a solemn expression:

"Mr. Muen, can you tell me...

"Where are ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) the people... we’re supposed to save?"