The veil of distortion was torn away, forcing Simon to confront the hideous reality it concealed.
The department pillars—the targets for scoring points—were not pillars at all. Human beings were bound to them, their three-dimensional forms hideously warped and flattened as if they were paper dolls, wrapped around the columns and shrieking in agony.
Wails of torment filled the air.
Spectators, servants, necromancer agents, and seven figures in clothing so mangled they were unrecognizable. All of them were screaming, their bodies bloodied by the shurikens embedded in their flesh.
Simon stared down at the shuriken in his hand.
It was a crimson cross.
’What is this?’
His vision swam in red.
The cheerful giggles of the students throwing shurikens twisted in his ears, echoing like the wails of the damned. Each time a cross struck a pillar, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar.
"You have to aim better!"
"Hit it!"
The sound of manic laughter echoed in his head. His ears rang as a blinding headache threatened to split his skull. Simon staggered, clutching his forehead as a cacophony of laughter and screams warred for dominance in his mind.
"One more!"
Another red cross sliced through the air, heading for a pillar. Simon’s eyes turned bloodshot. His body moved before his mind could command it. He leaped into the air, catching the flying cross with his bare hands. His palm tore open, blood gushing from the wound, but he bit his lip and squeezed tighter.
The Curses student who had thrown it stared in shock.
"Hey, must you be so dramatic?"
Simon’s eyes blazed with fury.
"STOOOOOOP!"
With a deafening rumble, the world snapped back to normal.
At Simon’s colossal shout, the frantic motion of the arena momentarily ceased.
"What’s with him?"
"Is he crazy?"
The students, shrugging it off, began to move again. One male student used Jet-Black to propel himself into the air, intending to slam his shuriken directly into a pillar.
"Alright! One more point—!"
In an instant, Simon was there, a bolt of lightning wrapped in a dark blue aura. He grabbed the student’s head with a grip like iron and slammed him into the water with a thunderous boom. The student’s eyes rolled upward to see a dark monster looming over him.
Simon planted himself in front of the pillar, arms outstretched.
"Stop! That’s enough!"
But the others paid him no mind.
"What’s this? Some new strategy?"
"Ignore him! Go for it!"
Simon bit his lip until he tasted blood.
[I said stop!]
His enraged cry, amplified by his will, echoed across the arena. Reacting to his thoughts, Deimos rose from the water, its massive jaw opening wide to fire a surging cannonball of water at the scoreboard.
Ocean Current Cannon
The huge scoreboard erupted in a shower of sparks, crackling as it began to tear apart and fall. The students finally stopped, their mouths agape as they stared at Simon.
"D-damaging the arena?"
"Is he actually insane?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The referees and security personnel who had been watching finally intervened, rushing onto the field.
"Student! What do you think you’re doing?"
Simon spun to face them. "Stop the match right now! Evacuate everyone!"
"What did you say?"
"There’s a fanatic in this arena!"
The security officers’ faces twisted in disbelief. "...A fanatic?"
"Hah, this is Roc Island, student. Stop talking nonsense and—"
Unable to contain his boiling rage, Simon whipped around and roared.
"Ever Kire!"
His shout sent shockwaves through the water.
"Why are you doing this? Show yourself right now!"
"Student!"
The security officers’ expressions hardened. The other students glared at him as if he had lost his mind, while the spectators booed, furious at the interruption.
Magic circles materialized at the officers’ fingertips with a faint hum.
"If you continue to resist, we’ll have no choice but to use force, even on the Student Council President."
"Come quietly."
Breathing heavily, Simon shook his bangs from his eyes and met their gaze. These were veterans who had seen countless battles, yet they flinched involuntarily at the sheer force of will radiating from a mere eighteen-year-old boy. Their surprise quickly turned to anger, and they began weaving powerful curses into their spells, preparing not just to subdue him, but to take him down hard.
"Put your hands in the air, now!"
"Hands up!"
Simon gritted his teeth. This was spiraling out of control.
’I was too reckless.’
His head was finally starting to clear. His body had reacted instinctively to save the people on the pillars, but he knew there was no way anyone would believe such a wild story without proof.
’What’s the best move? How can I convince them to evacuate?’
His mind raced, running through dozens of scenarios, but none offered a guaranteed solution.
’At this rate...!’
"We’re taking you down."
Just as the officers were about to unleash their curses, a massive explosion rocked the empty spectator stands.
Every head in the arena—Simon’s, the security’s, the students’, the crowd’s—snapped toward the sound. A series of pure white detonations lit up the stands.
"It’s a fanatic!" a girl’s voice cried out.
Simon’s eyes flew open.
’Lethe!’
"A fanatic has really appeared! Run!"
As if to punctuate her convincing cry, another brilliant white explosion erupted for all to see.
A student in the arena stared blankly, the shuriken falling from his limp hand with a soft thud. There was no mistaking it. That was Divinity.
The crowd erupted in panicked screams.
"It’s a real fanatic!"
"Help me!"
"Stop pushing!"
The arena plunged into pandemonium. Spectators screamed, scrambling for the exits. The security officers who had been targeting Simon were forced to abandon him, turning their attention to the new threat and the ensuing stampede.
Simon’s legs felt like jelly. He crouched on the platform, trying to catch his breath. He saw Lethe on her tiptoes, giving him a quick hand signal before running toward him.
’That was the absolute best possible move, Lethe.’
To use her own divine magic and then cry wolf. She was as clever as ever, and he was deeply grateful for her trust. Simon pushed himself to his feet and stared forward.
’Ever Kire has to be in this arena somewhere.... ’
[I will not let you escape.]
Just then, a woman’s voice echoed throughout the entire arena.
[Unbelievers who mock the goddess’s will.]
The water began to drain away with a great rushing sound, and Simon’s platform dropped to the now-exposed floor. The sky bled into a sickly crimson, the clouds twisting into grotesque shapes.
With a series of heavy thuds, every gate in the arena slammed shut. The fleeing spectators pounded on the sealed exits, their screams choked with terror, but it was useless.
Simon stared ahead, his face a grim mask.
At the center of the arena, the Valkese statue, from which fresh water had once cascaded, began to weep tears of blood from its eyes and mouth. A river of red, thick as wine, streamed down the statue, staining it crimson as it pooled on the arena floor with a sickening gurgle.
Simon drew on his Jet-Black, bracing himself.
[So there was an intruder,] the voice resounded. [How did you know? How interesting.]
The crimson blood on the floor formed a living puddle, rippling with an unnatural energy. And from within it, something was rising.
Simon’s eyes widened.
It was a cross, painted blood-red—an instrument of death used for heretics in the Holy Federation. And hanging from it was a woman.
’Don’t tell me.’
She was there by her own will, her body entwined in a horrifying thicket of thorns.
[Ah! Ah!]
Each time the naked woman struggled, the thorns gouged her flesh, carving wounds deep enough to expose bone and organ. Blood streamed from her body, but as soon as the wounds began to seal, she would writhe again, tearing them open once more.
[Oh, my goddess!]
The number of wounds multiplied, but she did not stop her self-mutilation. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, her tongue jutted stiffly toward the sky, and a sea of blood poured from her body.
[Oh goddess, please forgive this sinner’s transgressions!]
Her eyes glazed over in a kind of ecstasy as she let out a ragged scream.
[The sinner must be punished! The sinner must be punished! More! More! More pain!]
For the people of the Dark Alliance, it was a spectacle of unparalleled horror.
"Ah, aaaaaah!"
It was a scene of extreme, nightmarish grotesquerie. Some people began to vomit. Even Simon struggled to maintain his composure; the sight felt like a direct assault on his sanity.
"Simon!"
Lethe rushed to his side. "You are unharmed, I trust?"
"Yeah. But that thing..."
"I am aware."
Lethe’s brow furrowed. "That must be Ever Kire."
A gaunt face, hollowed cheeks, a body so emaciated her ribs were visible—but the black hair and chilling eyes from the photograph were unmistakable. Lethe stared at the writhing figure on the cross with utter disgust.
"What is this! There have to be limits to such sacrilege!"
Simon nodded. Her mental state was clearly far from normal.
[It’s already too late.]
Ever Kire’s empty, emotionless eyes turned from her ecstatic torment to fixate on Simon and Lethe. The corners of her mouth split open, tearing grotesquely beyond the limits of human anatomy.
[All preparations are complete.]
"Run away, student!"
Two security officers charged back into the arena, firing curses. But their spells dissipated before they even reached Ever Kire, blocked by an invisible force.
The officers stared in disbelief.
"She’s restrained, how did she— What did she block that with?"
Ever Kire let out an eerie laugh. Her long, seaweed-like hair swayed, amplifying the terror of the scene.
[It’s time to sleep now.]
Suddenly, the air throughout the arena crackled with a high-pitched whine as countless magical formulas materialized. Simon sensed it instantly: a wide-range white magic spell that utilized the entire arena as its medium.
[Goodbye.]
With the sound of something snapping, the divine magic activated.
The light vanished from the security officers’ eyes as they crumbled to the ground. The Kizen students who had been rushing to help went rigid, their eyes rolling back in their heads before they pitched forward, their own momentum carrying them face-first into the floor.
The people in the stands and the crowd pounding on the gates all fell unconscious, collapsing in heaps.
[Very good.]
Ever Kire let out a horrifying cackle, her body shaking with glee. Each tremor drove the thorns deeper, but she only laughed with grotesque satisfaction.
"...You."
Ever Kire, who had been reveling in her divine punishment, lowered her head. Simon, whom she had presumed unconscious, was staggering back to his feet.
"You, of all people, I will never forgive."
[Oh-ho.]
The fanatic on the red cross tilted her head at a sickeningly unnatural angle.
[You’ve surprised me twice now. How are you still able to move?]
"It appears to be a formula that converts ambient mana into a divine shock, meant to incapacitate necromancers, is it not?"
Lethe threw off her robe with a flutter, revealing the pure white uniform of Efnel beneath.
"There is no way such a thing would work on him, is there now, fanatic?"
[The Saintess of Stars.]
The fanatic on the cross cackled.
[Daughter closest to the goddess, why do you defy her will? All necromancers in this world must be eradicated. The same goes for the commoners who serve them. That is the will of the great goddess.]
Power flared in Lethe’s eyes. "You shall not twist the will of the gods to suit your own ends."
[Hehehe.]
The thorny vines holding Ever Kire to the cross suddenly unraveled with a dry rustle. She plummeted from a height of eight stories, crashing to the floor with a sickening crunch. But in the next moment, she was rising, her body contorting in a bizarre, unnatural way.
[Efnel is the one misinterpreting the goddess’s will.] She spread her arms wide. [I am the one truly chosen by the goddess!]
Her body was enveloped in a pure white light, which coalesced into the form of clothing. Lethe, watching, gasped.
"How can you wear that...!"
A mere fanatic was donning the Holy Raiment, a garment permitted only to a Saintess, a demigod.
[Want to say hello?]
She gripped her own abdomen with both hands and tore it open. A black void was revealed inside, and from it, a long, pale hand emerged.
"That’s...!"
Simon, his senses finally returning, stared in horror.
Ever Kire grabbed the long hand and gently pulled. Faded golden hair spilled out, followed by a face with eyes sewn shut and skin covered in burn scars.
"The Saintess of Harvest!"
As Simon and Lethe reeled in shock, Ever Kire smirked, taking the Saintess’s limp hand and waving it at them.
[Hello, hello. It’s been a while, everyone. I’m the Saintess of Harvest....]
With a deafening boom, Simon’s Bone Spear from the right and Lethe’s La Escrime from the left slammed into a divine barrier. Sparks flew from both their eyes.
[So impatient. Won’t even let me finish my greeting,] Ever Kire said, spreading her arms again. [Well then!]
They both flinched, looking down as the sound of rustling filled the air. Wheat was sprouting from the arena floor. Not just the floor, but the walls and spectator stands were being consumed by a field of rippling gold.
[The one and only servant of the great goddess, her one and only apostle, the Saintess of Harvest, I, Ever Kire!]
The corners of her mouth split open like a monster’s maw.
[I shall prepare a holy war solely for thee!]
The feast of contempt and distortion had begun.

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