Kiaria's gaze shifted slowly and settled on the slave girl.

"You," he said.

His voice was neither loud nor cruel. It did not need to be.

The word struck her like a blade.

"Half-blood."

Her entire body trembled. Her knees weakened, and she almost collapsed where she stood.

She did not dare lift her eyes.

Kiaria descended from the air, lowering himself until he hovered only a palm's height above the ground. His shadow fell over her like an eclipse. He extended his forefinger and pointed it toward her forehead.

A monochrome wave surged outward from his fingertip.

It passed through her body in a single breath.

The scars vanished.

Burn marks dissolved into unbroken skin. Old wounds sealed without leaving even a faint line. Bruises faded as though time itself had reversed. The pain she had carried for years disappeared in an instant.

She gasped.

Her breath broke into sobs as her legs gave out completely. She fell forward and pressed her forehead to the stone.

"Th-thank you for your grace, Lord…" she whispered.

Her voice shook. "Thank you…"

The entire market froze.

Merchants. Slaves. Prisoners. Guards.

Every one of them stared in disbelief.

A God had healed a lowly half-blood.

Not a noble.

Not a cultivator.

Not a favored follower.

A half-breed slave.

A murmur almost rose.

Almost.

But it died in their throats.

The image of the merchant burning alive–without Kiaria even lifting a finger–still hung in the air like a curse. No one dared make a sound.

Kiaria lowered his hand.

"Name," he said.

The girl swallowed hard.

"M-Mimi," she replied.

"Arise," Kiaria commanded.

She obeyed instantly, rising to her feet, her hands clenched at her sides, her posture stiff with terror and awe.

"Do you have any wish?" Kiaria asked.

Her breath stuttered.

"I–I don't dare…" she whispered.

Diala spoke gently from her mount.

"Mimi, don't be afraid," she said.

"My brother is righteous. If you do not lie or delay your words, you will not be punished."

Mimi's lips trembled.

"U-understood…" she said.

She hesitated once more, then forced herself to speak.

"I… I wish for a savior."

A faint shift passed through the crowd.

Kiaria's gaze sharpened.

"A savior?" he asked.

"What kind?"

"A savior to save us from–"

Before she could finish, movement erupted from the fortress entrance.

Two figures rushed forward and dropped to their knees violently, foreheads striking the stone in perfect unison.

It was the ritualist.

And the same man the butterfly had followed in the dungeon.

"Lord God–hail!" they cried together.

The sudden interruption cut Mimi's words short.

Kiaria's eyes moved to them.

Cold.

Uninterested.

"Are you the officials ruling over these people?" he asked.

The ritualist hesitated.

"P-probably," he replied.

Kiaria tilted his head slightly.

"Oh?" he said.

"Then answer me."

His tone hardened.

"But before that–remove the skull mask."

The ritualist stiffened.

"I–I cannot, Lord," he said quickly.

"My tribe's rules forbid its removal."

Sweat poured down his face.

Kiaria stared at him for a long moment.

Then–

"Oh?" he said again.

The ritualist's entire body trembled.

"You did not lie," Kiaria said calmly.

"So I will let you go this time."

Relief flashed across the man's face.

Then Kiaria continued.

"But the two of you carry the scent of demons."

His voice dropped.

"So you must die."

The ritualist's relief shattered.

"P-please, Lord! Forgive us!"

"We were forced!"

"We had no choice!"

"We only followed orders!"

They slammed their foreheads into the ground repeatedly, blood smearing across the stone.

The market held its breath.

Mimi stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides.

The disciples remained motionless.

Waiting.

Kiaria did not move immediately.

He stood in silence, gaze fixed on the kneeling ritualist and his companion, as if measuring something far deeper than their words. His intent was clear–not merely to kill, but to establish something permanent.

Authority.

Absolute, undeniable, irreversible.

The air thickened.

A ripple of distortion surged outward from Kiaria's body.

Then–

A massive form tore itself into existence beside him.

Two heads.

One body.

A fusion of deer and wolf.

The Saint Two-Headed Deer-Wolf.

It began to walk.

Slowly.

Circling the kneeling men.

Each step was deliberate. Each breath exhaled frost-laced mist. Its presence alone crushed the space around it, warping sound and bending light. The market recoiled instinctively as fear spiked to a new extreme.

The ritualist collapsed fully to the ground.

"Forgive us! We beg you!"

"We will atone!"

"Please, Lord God–please!"

Kiaria's voice descended.

"You disgraced my Paradise with your dirty greed."

The words echoed unnaturally, reverberating through walls, bones, and minds.

"I forgive that."

The kneeling men froze.

"But you infiltrated my land with demons."

The temperature dropped.

"That," Kiaria said quietly,

"I will not forgive."

Their bodies shook violently.

"You broke the rules."

A pause.

Then–

"Die."

The word struck like a verdict carved into existence.

The ritualist screamed.

Before Kiaria could move, Diala spoke.

"Brother."

Her voice was calm, but it cut through the tension like a blade.

"Calm down. Kids always make mistakes."

"Give them a chance."

The crowd went still.

The ritualist's eyes widened in desperate hope.

Kiaria turned his head slightly.

"…Since you said that," he replied evenly,

"then you punish them."

The Two-Headed Deer-Wolf vanished without sound.

White Jade stepped forward.

Diala remained seated upon its back, her posture serene, her gaze indifferent.

The beast lowered its head.

Its eyes glowed faintly.

Hungry.

It circled the kneeling men once, then twice–its breath washing over them like the breath of a predator savoring its prey.

The sky changed.

Dark clouds surged together unnaturally fast, forming a churning dome above the market. The light dimmed. Wind fell silent.

Then–

Single, massive eyes opened within the clouds.

One after another.

Watching.

Judging.

Every gaze in the market snapped upward.

Fear shattered into raw panic.

The Crescent Jade Nine Blades lifted from behind Diala's back.

They ascended.

Then–

They fell.

Nine colossal arcs of jade descended from the heavens like divine guillotines, tearing through the air with soul-piercing resonance. The eyes in the sky aligned with the central cores of each blade, their gazes burning directly into the kneeling men.

The blades did not strike flesh.

They struck existence itself.

Nine meridians.

Nine impacts.

The soul-level attack tore through their inner pathways like a storm ripping apart a fragile structure. Their bodies convulsed violently as blood burst from their mouths and noses, spraying across the stone.

The blades vanished.

The sky cleared.

The clouds dispersed.

The eyes closed.

Silence returned.

The ritualist collapsed face-first onto the ground, choking, vomiting blood, his entire cultivation foundation shattered beyond repair. His companion screamed wordlessly, clutching his chest as his internal energy spiraled into irreversible collapse.

Kiaria walked forward.

Each step echoed.

He stopped before them.

"Now tell me," he said calmly,

"who forced you?"

His gaze sharpened.

"Who leads you?"

The ritualist's entire body spasmed.

"Th-tha– I–I can't…" he stammered.

Blood pooled beneath his face.

"I can't answer that…"

"Word seal?" Kiaria asked calmly.

Both men nodded violently, blood still dripping from their mouths.

"That is enough for me to find culprit." Kiaria said.

Their bodies stiffened.

"But I want to hear it from you," he continued. "Or more precisely–"

His gaze sharpened.

"I want you to lead whoever that is to me."

A heavy silence fell.

"For that purpose," Kiaria said evenly, "I will remain here."

He raised three fingers.

"I will give you three days."

Their faces drained of color.

"Bring him here."

The air trembled faintly as his intent solidified.

"If you speak about him… if you even think his name–"

He paused.

"You will die."

Their pupils shrank.

"If you plot against him–"

"You will die."

"If you try to flee–"

"You will die."

The words were not threats.

They were laws.

"But I want to see what you are capable of," Kiaria said quietly.

His gaze shifted to the ritualist.

"Skull."

The masked man flinched.

"If you bring him to me," Kiaria said, "I will heal you."

The ritualist's breath hitched.

"Otherwise–"

"No death."

"No escape."

"No end."

"Only eternal suffering."

The meaning crushed into the man's soul.

"Now," Kiaria said, turning slightly, "you two–step aside."

They crawled away trembling.

Kiaria turned back toward Mimi.

"Mimi," he said calmly.

"Spit out what you swallowed halfway."

His gaze hardened.

"This time, no one will interrupt."

He looked at the two broken men.

"If anyone interferes–"

"One of them will lose a finger."

Their bodies convulsed in terror.

Mimi clenched her fists.

Her eyes shut tight.

"Will you please save us from slavery!" she blurted out, her words tumbling over each other in panic and hope.

The market froze.

Then–

"Hahaha…"

Kiaria laughed softly.

Not mockingly.

Not cruelly.

Amused.

"Interesting…" he murmured.

He turned toward a hunched old merchant standing near the edge of the crowd.

"Do you know why that is interesting?" Kiaria asked.

The old man slowly straightened.

He leaned on his walking stick and stepped forward with effort.

He laughed too – low, dry, worn by age.

"Because saving and savior are different things," the old man replied.

A ripple passed through the crowd.

"You are right," Kiaria said.

Then his eyes shifted.

"But I want the explanation from a merchant."

The crowd stiffened.

"If a merchant explains it correctly within three chances," Kiaria said, "I will forget her wish."

"And I will pretend nothing happened."

"And I will even allow you all to continue living in our Paradise."

Hope exploded silently.

"But if no merchant can," Kiaria continued,

"then whatever you have–"

"Whatever it is–"

"It will no longer belong to you."

"All of it will be freed."

Terror surged.

Slaves.

Shops.

Wealth.

Lives.

Everything.

No one moved.

Merchants stared at the ground.

Their hands trembled.

For them, a wrong answer meant being torn apart by their own kind.

A right answer meant becoming the God's personal target.

In that moment of hesitation–

Thousands of tiny, soul-skull spiderlings crept silently from beneath Kiaria's foot.

They scattered into shadows.

Between cracks.

Along walls.

Under tents.

No one noticed.

"Ahem."

The old merchant coughed.

Kiaria turned.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Can you set a time limit for this?" the old man said carefully.

"I cannot stand this long."

"And the Lord Gods have just returned home after a long while."

"It is inappropriate to make the Lords stand at a market entrance for too long."

"That is poor mannerism."

The air froze.

Then–

"You pleased my heart," Kiaria said.

"Come here."

The old man approached.

"This old servant cannot kneel," he said respectfully.

"Forgive my ignorance, my Lord God."

"Old and wise are respected," Kiaria replied.

"Neither must kneel."

"You may stand."

He raised a vial.

"Take this."

The old man hesitated.

Then drank it.

Instantly–

Spiritual energy surged through his body.

Wrinkles faded.

His hunched back straightened.

His eyes sharpened.

Vitality returned like a reborn flame.

"Thank you, Lord," the old man said, bowing deeply.

He moved to stand beside Mimi.

They waited.

Silence stretched.

Then–

A richly dressed slave-shop merchant stepped forward.

His face pale.

His hands shaking.

"I… I have an answer…" he said.

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