“The Withering King’s... flames.”

Muen instinctively looked down at his wrist.

Though it looked normal under typical circumstances, the moment firelight ignited within his pupils, he could clearly see the fingerprint-like marks extending from under his sleeve.

That was the imprint the Withering King had left on his body.

Even though that power was no longer a mere bestowal—it had been obtained through critical intelligence exchanged via the [Black Book] as a form of “Divine Favor”—Muen still felt deeply uneasy about it.

It was an Evil God, after all.

But he had to admit: the power of a God-Favored was overwhelming.

One only needed to look at Anne and Celicia to understand the magnitude of that strength. If one wanted to gain power in the shortest possible time, there was no doubt this was the fastest shortcut.

“Actually, the reason I started studying magic in the first place... was to separate myself from that power.”

Muen smiled bitterly.

“But I didn’t expect I’d still end up... accepting it.”

“I told you, didn’t I? Power itself has no morality. What matters is the one who wields it. Even the power of Evil Gods is the same.”

As Meladomir spoke, she lightly curled a finger. A delicate flower floated into her palm.

She gently caressed the blossom, making it bloom more brilliantly—and then crushed it without hesitation. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

“So, if one day you find yourself unsatisfied with that power, and begin to seek more from the Withering King...”

A wave of cold surged in.

Muen’s vision was suddenly dyed red with blood. The countless flowers that had bloomed around them now appeared like blades soaked in flowing blood.

Professor Meladomir stared at him in silence. Her expression calm. Yet Muen could feel death screaming in his ears.

“I will kill you myself.”

The blood vanished. The sea of flowers swayed gently, breathtakingly beautiful.

As if none of it had ever happened.

Only the sweat soaking through his back told Muen the truth—that if he truly surrendered himself to the Withering King, Professor Meladomir would not hesitate for even a second to cut down her own new disciple.

“I won’t.”

Muen wiped the cold sweat from his brow and replied seriously:

“I already have you, Professor Meladomir. Don’t I?”

“...”

Meladomir was briefly stunned. Then she gave a quiet laugh.

“So the rumors weren’t entirely false, after all?”

“Hm?”

“Nothing. As for the weapons—any more questions? Time is short. Ask quickly.”

“Questions?”

Muen swung the short blades again. With their support, his long-stagnant [Dagger Combat Technique] even showed signs of advancing to a higher level.

“Not really. But... Professor Meladomir, is there anything I should be aware of in day-to-day use? Like maintenance intervals or anything?”

“Weapons with living spirits usually have self-repair and self-cleaning functions, so no need to worry. As for precautions...”

Meladomir thought casually for a moment and said:

“Just don’t wave them around in front of people from the Church of Life and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, alright. Then I’ll definitely not—wait, hold on.”

Muen blinked. Then his eyes went wide.

“What do you mean by not waving them in front of the Church of Life? Are there parts of these weapons they can’t see?”

He was starting to panic. It was the Church of Life, after all—getting on their bad side was a surefire path to disaster.

“It’s nothing.”

Meladomir shrugged nonchalantly.

“I just made the blades from one of their holy swords, that’s all. It’s understandable those narrow-minded little followers wouldn’t take it well.”

“Oh, that’s all? You just reforged a holy sword into a pair of short blades. That doesn’t sound like... LIKE HELL IT DOESN’T!”

Muen practically shrieked in horror.

“Which holy sword?! Professor Meladomir—don’t tell me it was one of those five sacred swords of the Church of Life.”

“Five? Weren’t there seven?”

Meladomir looked puzzled.

“Did they lose two while I was asleep? Hm. Oh well, only four are left now anyway, right?”

“So it was one of the sacred swords!”

Muen’s hands trembled as he gripped the blades. “Wh-why would you do that?! Wouldn’t it have been better to just use it as-is?”

Every man had dreamed of wielding a sacred sword to slay monsters and demons. If he had one, Muen thought, maybe he’d even go back to training in swordsmanship again.

But to think Professor Meladomir had just melted it down?!

If the Church of Life found out—even if she, as a top-tier powerhouse, could walk away scot-free—he would absolutely end up tied to a cross and burned alive!

“Well, the sword had the Church’s mark on it. Removing it was a pain, so I figured I’d just melt it down entirely.”

Meladomir had the same attitude as someone saying, the lock on the vault was too hard to pick, so I just smashed the whole vault open.

“...”

“Relax, relax. It’s not as bad as you’re imagining.”

Seeing Muen still stunned like an idiot, Meladomir added comfortingly:

“After all, I reforged it so thoroughly that unless you’re unlucky enough to run into an Archbishop-level figure, they won’t be able to tell.”

“...What if I am that unlucky?”

If there was one thing Muen never lost at, it was bad luck.

He could already picture it: the moment he walked out, blades in hand, he’d run straight into a whole team-building retreat of Church of Life Archbishops.

“In that case...”

Meladomir thought for a moment.

“You can try resisting to the death.”

“Oh? Does that mean you’ve got a backup plan?” Muen’s eyes lit up.

“No.”

Meladomir answered with complete seriousness:

“It’ll just mean dying with a bit more dignity.”

“...”

...

...

“Well, enough pleasant chatting. Shall we get to the main event?”

Meladomir stretched, her expression growing serious. She turned to Muen and asked:

“Do you know the true nature of gods?”

“The true nature of gods?”

Muen blinked. He hadn’t expected Professor Meladomir to open with such a profound question.

But—

“Aren’t gods just... gods?”

Thinking back on the original novel, Muen realized that its descriptions of gods were vague and evasive.

That annoyed him a little.

He knew he shouldn’t have stopped halfway through the book. At the very least he should’ve finished it—otherwise, when you really did transmigrate into the world, you’d end up not even knowing key mechanics like this!

“The so-called gods are actually...”

Meladomir started to explain—but then paused, tapped her head, and stuck out her tongue.

“Oops~ I almost forgot. I’m one of the Seven who signed the Original Silence Pact. I’m not allowed to talk about this.”

“Eh?!”

Muen stared, stunned. He glared at the white-haired, ancient loli playing innocent with a pout.

“Professor Meladomir! Do /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ you know the two kinds of people I hate most in the world?”

“Hmm?”

“The first—are people who only say half of what they mean. And the other...”

“The other?” Meladomir tilted her head, waiting for him to finish.

“...”

“...”

...

“Alright, back to business.”

Meladomir expressionlessly retracted her tiny fist and looked down at Muen, who was writhing on the ground clutching his stomach like a dying grub.

“You’ve been in here a while—noticed anything different from before?”

“Different...?”

Still curled up from that loli punch, Muen slowly raised his head and looked around.

The sky was still blue, the breeze still refreshing. But if there was something different—

“...The flowers.”

Muen said.

“The flowers. They’re a different color now compared to when I first came in.”

The first time he entered this place, the flower field had been a riot of color. But now, everything he saw was pure white.

“Correct. The flowers are different.”

Meladomir nodded approvingly at his perceptiveness. Then she asked:

“Do you know why they’re different?”

“Because...”

Muen thought hard. “They change color?”

“Good guess, but no. The flowers didn’t change—they really are different flowers.”

“What do you mean?” Muen was starting to feel dizzy from all the circles Meladomir was talking in.

She didn’t answer. Instead, under his puzzled gaze, she picked up her little watering can and began watering the flowers again.

Under the nourishment of water, the blossoms grew ever more vivid. Even the leaves seemed to stand taller.

No—not “seemed to.”

Before Muen’s shocked eyes, the flowers around Professor Meladomir bloomed, stretched, and withered—at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The sea of flowers vanished. What remained was desolate, barren land.

Then, from the exposed black soil, new sprouts quickly burst forth.

They budded, branched, leafed out—blossomed.

Flames of red spread through Muen’s vision.

Then—withered again.

“Tch. Still can’t get the pink ones I want.”

Meladomir gave a low sigh, then turned to Muen.

“Did you see it?”

“This is...”

Muen was still stunned—but he had gone toe-to-toe with an Evil God, after all. He quickly recovered.

“...Time?”

“Sharp. That’s right—it’s the power of time.”

Meladomir said,

“I can’t tell you what gods truly are. But here’s something you can know: Among all the authorities wielded by the gods, only two do not exist—time and space.

Which is to say, those two laws... in a sense, have no master.”

“No master...?”

Muen’s eyes widened.

Because from her tone, it sounded like—these laws, which even gods couldn’t control, were in fact controllable.

“Which means—It’s time you opened your eyes wide and watched carefully, my adorable disciple. Witness... the life’s work of your teacher!”

Meladomir spread her arms as if embracing the heavens. Her white hair fluttered, though no wind blew.

The ground trembled—like it was experiencing millennia of history in an instant. The black soil beneath their feet rapidly disintegrated, revealing beneath it a colossal mechanical structure radiating a terrifying, majestic beauty.

Tens of thousands of enormous gears interlocked and collided, throwing off brilliant sparks.

Hundreds of millions of mechanical components moved in precision harmony, powered by overwhelming magical force.

It was as if a planet made entirely of machinery and gears had appeared beneath his feet. At that moment, Muen couldn’t help but tremble at his own insignificance—he even forgot to breathe.

Before this terrifying and beautiful ultimate creation, it felt like all things in the world—even the very laws—could be rewritten.

“Behold!”

Standing at the center of it all, the white-haired loli girl shouted with fanatical excitement.

Behind her, the vague outline of a colossal clock appeared. Its hands shifted—marking the passage of endless time.

“This—is the peak of alchemy and magic. The fusion of idealism and materialism. A thousand-year work of blood, sweat, and tears. The true core of the [Great Sacrament]. A supreme creation that even the gods will tremble before. An artificial authority.

—The Clock of Eternity.”