Chapter 551: Asceticism

“This tea is quite good.”

“It is, isn’t it? It’s spring tea from the Holy City—famous throughout the world.”

In a desolate forest somewhere outside Belrand.

After a brief clash that had nearly leveled the surroundings—after realizing that neither could do anything to the other—the two renowned peak-ranked experts of the age instead ended up sitting across from each other, leisurely at ease.

Since fighting wouldn’t produce any result anyway, they might as well drink tea.

“Drinking tea is good. Very good. Beneficial to both body and mind—far better than all that fighting and killing. This really should have been how things were from the start.”

Archbishop Canterbury shook his head with emotion, flicked aside his already-torn sleeve, and gestured around them.

A faint, sacred radiance spread across the plain. The barren ground quickly sprouted tender new shoots, dull yellow soil returning once more to vibrant green life.

“But speaking of which...”

Canterbury took an unhurried sip of tea and said:

“Where did that little girl who’s always been with you go? I didn’t see her this time.”

The campfire suddenly flickered. A wave of cold spread outward, forcing the newly sprouted shoots to bow low, as if fearing that the moment of their birth would immediately be met with death.

But the chill and killing intent vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

King Yintuo casually scattered the powder in his teacup. Lowering his eyes, neither pleased nor displeased, he said:

“Why ask that? Wasn’t your Church unwilling to save her?”

“Correction—not unwilling, but unable.”

Archbishop Canterbury sighed.

“The world always blames those who possess the power to save. ‘Why didn’t you save her? Why didn’t you save her? What gives you the right not to save?’ I’ve heard those words countless times. Yet even we—who spread the Goddess’s gospel and act as saviors—have things we simply cannot do.”

“That girl was one of them. Never-before-seen atavistic beast blood, combined with an extremely immature human body. The conflict between those two would never stop until one was completely crushed and devoured by the other. There is no method to make them compatible. When you came to us last time, wasn’t she already barely clinging to life under the torment of the beast blood? If not for us, she would have died back then.”

“I paid the price,” King Yintuo replied calmly. “It was a fair exchange.”

He remained seated like an ascetic statue, his vacant eyes betraying not the slightest emotional fluctuation.

“As for her... if you couldn’t save her, then I had no choice but to look for someone who could.”

“Someone else saving her? Impossible. At present, the only way to delay the beast blood within her is—”

Canterbury suddenly froze.

His thoughts turned rapidly, and something seemed to click.

“So that’s it... Those recent rumors in the Lower District, about some strange drug... so that’s what it was. I should have realized sooner.”

His expression softened into pity. After offering a devout prayer to the Goddess, he asked:

“Is this really right?”

“Right or wrong—what does that matter?”

“Leaving aside the minuscule chance of success,” Canterbury said slowly, “being subjected to that... that girl will suffer terribly. Even if the beast blood has already eroded most of her reason, that pain will still be real—utterly real.”

The archbishop shook his head. Just imagining that marrow-draining agony made his skin crawl. Let alone it being inflicted on a little girl.

“Pain... perhaps.”

King Yintuo, seated like a statue, finally moved slightly. He lowered his head, looking at the untouched bowl of wild vegetable soup beside him.

Even during their earlier battle, not a single drop had spilled from it.

In the reflection on the soup’s surface, he vaguely saw a tender, childish smile—but when the ripples settled, all that remained was his own stern, corpse-like face.

“But life itself is filled with pain, isn’t it?”

He spoke quietly, as if answering someone—or perhaps convincing himself.

“It’s like crossing a sea of sand. We don’t know when we’ll reach the oasis of salvation. But if we die before that, then even that final shred of hope disappears. So as long as one can live... no matter how great the pain, it is worth enduring.”

“So long as one can live... no matter how great the pain, it is worth it.”

Archbishop Canterbury chuckled. His magnificent yet tattered sleeves spread wide as he leaned back and gazed at the moonless, starless black sky, sneering:

“Heh. Such selfish bullshit... really does sound like something a brain-damaged ascetic like you would say.”

...

...

“The... source of beast blood?”

Muen murmured softly, full of pity.

As more and more powerful magical beast limbs erupted from rupturing seams, the little girl’s shape grew ever more grotesque and terrifying.

He didn’t know her origins, nor why she had become a test subject in the Inner Council’s research—but just from those densely packed stitch marks alone, Muen could almost feel the pain she had endured.

Was that why she kept crying without pause?

“Since that’s the case,” Muen said quietly, “then don’t move. I’ll... set you free!”

The thunderous roar of layered lightning sounded once more. Without the slightest hesitation, Muen raised his blade and slashed down!

The blade-light lit up the night. A horrifying strike cleaved straight through the tough scales of the bear-shaped claw, nearly severing it at the root.

Blood-red threads surged out again, dragging the severed claw back together. As the little girl let out a pained sob, she also released a strange roar—like countless magical beasts screaming together.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The drumbeat-like heartbeat rang out again. Vast quantities of blood essence were greedily siphoned away through the blood-red threads.

Her wounds healed at a visible pace. And as the extraction accelerated, both the countless blood-red threads—and the little girl herself—grew visibly excited.

But that excitement was cut short almost instantly.

Because there was no more food on her platter.

Or rather—it had been taken away.

The little girl’s crying halted for the moment. Her twisted face turned toward Muen, revealing the pure fury of a child whose food had been snatched away by a wicked adult.

“I originally didn’t want to use this.”

Muen adjusted his top hat, letting black flames mingled with sacred outer fire leap from his sleeves, incinerating all flesh they touched—including the blood-red threads—into nothingness.

This was sacred fire.

This was black flame.

Deep within Muen’s pupils, a black sun bearing a pale crown also revolved—majestic and slow.

That sun merely cast a trace of its residual authority into the world through Muen’s eyes, and the entire world itself seemed to dim slightly.

“After all, with my current realm,” Muen said calmly, “forcing something that exceeds my own level is still far too difficult.”

In his original plan, no matter what danger he encountered, Muen intended to hold something back—his final trump card—because tonight’s top priority had always been protecting the Crown Prince.

But now that he had encountered the very source of the beast blood, whether out of pity or cold rational judgment, there was simply no reason to let her leave alive.

And so, even at the risk of exhausting his mental strength, Muen finally revealed the black flame.

At moments like this, he couldn’t help but miss that pathetic god he had once cuckolded right to their face. Back when he had used that god’s Divine Favor, as long as there was no risk of being discovered, he could practically use it however he wanted. After all, it wasn’t his—no reason to feel bad about draining it dry.

Only now did Muen truly understand how valuable fuel was when it was his own.

Driving a small engine to power a massive vehicle—what an utterly miserable experience.

Still, no matter how much he complained, Muen was very clear on the difference between something bestowed by others and something that truly belonged to him.

From the moment he had inexplicably been led step by step into acquiring this power, Muen had never once stopped trying to seize it fully into his own hands.

Now, it was finally time to test the results.

Muen took a deep breath. His vast mental power sank into his consciousness—

And with great difficulty, he began to push that black sun...

Grinding it into motion.