It was as if a sun had risen.

Blazing crimson fire, carrying boundless heat and the aura of destruction, suddenly erupted from within Muen.

Deep beneath his skin, that strange fingerprint-like mark flared once more, like molten lava burning hot.

The rainwater flowing across the ground instantly evaporated, and the shrouding mist of the Silent Moon roiled violently, as though it had encountered its natural enemy.

“What—”

The demoness instinctively widened her eyes, her mind unable to process this sudden upheaval. Her alluring face, under the piercing brightness, appeared pale and frail.

At that moment, a large hand, freed from the binding shadows, reached out from the crimson flames and clamped tightly around her neck.

“You’re so cautious. That’s wonderful, Miss Demoness.”

Muen lifted his head, gazing at her with mockery as he spoke:

“No—perhaps I should say timid. You calculated everything, and in the end, you’ve helped me a great deal. Are you happy?”

“Why... the Withering King’s flame? Muen Campbell—you?”

As a devotee of the Moon, she instantly recognized the aura, a presence like that of a mortal enemy. But the more she understood the origin of this power, the more unbelievable it became.

Muen Campbell... was actually a follower of an Evil God?

This son of a duke, born a supreme noble among nobles, could it be that he was a cultist of the Withering King?

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t worship that Big Eye. This is nothing more than a strictly equivalent trade.”

Seeing through her thoughts at a glance, Muen smiled wickedly.

At that moment, he truly looked the part of the blond villain, bullying an innocent girl.

“Trade?”

The demoness froze, instinctively locking eyes with Muen.

But now, his eyes were no longer a calm blue like a lake. They burned crimson, and at their centers, several black-hole-like vortices rotated slowly. Around those voids, coronas rippled outward, layers upon layers of searing halos, like countless crossing dawn rays—radiating an ultimate majesty.

Just being stared at by those eyes made the demoness feel as if her very soul was igniting. The pain was so excruciating she forgot the humiliation of being held by the throat like a chicken. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

This crushing disparity finally made her realize the difference in the nature of Muen’s power from her own.

Both came from Evil Gods.

Both were obtained through transactions with them.

But Muen’s was not, like hers, the lowly scraps granted in pity after offering endless faith and prayers, sacrificing everything for a paltry handout.

No. What he carried was—Divine Favor.

It was a manifestation of a god’s authority itself. A god walking the earth. A living spring of law, ceaseless and inexhaustible.

In comparison, it utterly crushed her so-called “closest to the Moon” priesthood—by several entire tiers.

And yet—

Would an Evil God truly grant Divine Favor to an ordinary human?

Such a thing had never been heard of in all of human history!

The demoness could not comprehend it.

But she knew—if this continued, she would die.

“No! I cannot die like this! I cannot!”

Suddenly she struggled fiercely. Somehow, she found the strength to wrench herself free from Muen’s grip, twisting, crawling, desperately trying to escape him.

“No, I have yet to receive the eternal life promised by the Great Moon! How could I die?!”

On all fours, she clawed across the ground, heedless that tiny crimson flames had already slipped beneath her scales, igniting her flesh and blood from within.

With a wrenching gag, she vomited a mouthful of blood.

Blankly, she lowered her head and saw her reflection in the bloody pool.

Her once-alluring face had gone paper-white. Her messy strands clung to her forehead, drenched with sweat, leaving her pitifully bedraggled.

But worse still were her eyes. The snake-like pupils that once inspired boundless terror were no longer cold. Firefly sparks began flickering within them, like glowworms on a summer night.

Not beautiful at all—rather, they carried an unspeakable sense of annihilation.

The flames had already begun to consume her soul.

“No... no!”

Wracked by the burning pain of her soul itself, the demoness raised her head in terror, staring up at the sky already smothered by black mist, and prayed devoutly.

“Moon—Great Moon, please save me, grant me strength...”

“I am your most faithful servant! I am willing to give you everything—please, save me...”

“My soul—I can still offer my soul! If you save me, my soul too can be sacrificed to you...”

Wide-eyed with hope, she prayed frantically.

She knew: the mist of the Moon could not obscure the Moon’s gaze itself. All it would take was for the Moon to cast its sight once more, and every problem would be solved.

Even if Muen Campbell had the Divine Favor of the Withering King, how could that compare to the god’s own hand?

So long as the Moon would look down for even a moment, just a moment, I could—

“Seems you’ve already been abandoned.”

Muen was suddenly beside her, calmly studying her wretched face.

“That Moon of yours is as cowardly as you. Barely able to protect itself—how could it possibly save you?”

“Lies!”

The demoness roared in fury.

“I am the priestess beneath the Moon! I am its most devoted believer! I was promised immortality by It personally—how could the Moon abandon me, how cou—”

Her scream stopped short.

Suddenly she felt cold.

Bone-deep cold.

As though something was being steadily withdrawn from within her.

“This is...”

Shuddering, she lowered her head to look at herself.

Her voluptuous body was shriveling, drying like fruit robbed of all moisture. Her pale skin began rotting at a speed visible to the eye, oozing a rancid stench.

The Moon was reclaiming its power.

And since she had long ago offered up her organs, surviving only by that power, the moment it was withdrawn, death became inevitable.

“No... why... I...”

Terror-stricken, she raised her head again. But this time, no matter how she strained her eyes, within that misty sky she could no longer find the Moon.

The Moon had truly abandoned her.

Utterly.

“I hate... I hate it!!”

Her faith collapsed entirely, and bloody tears flowed from the corners of her eyes.

The deeper her devotion had once been, the deeper her hatred burned now.

But if hatred were enough, she would long ago have been drowned by the countless souls she had slaughtered.

Thus, the demoness could [N O V E L I G H T] only writhe in the agony of her body and soul being devoured, watching herself rot away piece by piece—until nothing remained.

Born of the Moon. Dead by the Moon.

This was the cruelest death Muen had given her.