Passing the sparse tree line, the bustling lights of Adlock town were already close at hand. Noisy voices drifted to her ears, the rutted dirt road underfoot winding and bathed in a warm glow.

Instinctively feeling the heavy weight at her waist, Moga walked inward and asked, “Lord Evil God, do you have any special plans next?”

“What is it?” Yvette asked.

“We’re well-funded now. If you want to set up a base in town to attract followers, this money should be more than enough.” Moga’s suggestion sounded very pragmatic.

But Yvette wasn’t actually an evil deity—she flatly refused the idea of a church. “No need. Keep the money for yourself.”

“All right.” Moga nodded calmly; her delicate face showed no change.

Yet Yvette could hear the surfacing waves in her mind—obviously that suggestion was really a probe to see whether the Evil God would help her reclaim half the money for some ulterior use, like opening a small chapel to lay the groundwork for a local cult.

When Yvette refused, Moga’s mood immediately brightened, because that meant the money truly belonged entirely to her. It was a huge sum—conservatively, enough to equal the total earnings of her past five years of adventuring!

She was rich!

After wandering the world so long, this was the first time the half-elf girl had so much money; she couldn’t help but smile now and then, then regain her composure.

If someone had been taking pictures at that moment, half the shots would capture a sweet smile tugging at her lips, the other half a forced, restrained calm. She flitted between the two expressions each second, looking especially cute without even knowing it.

So what should she do next—Moga began thinking about how to handle the windfall.

The ancient coins could be fairly easily exchanged for common coin, though rates varied by place and required caution. The antiques were harder to price; she planned to ask several antique dealers before deciding.

In the midst of that happy worry, she soon passed a steaming building; a warm, humid breath hit her face and made her step stop.

She glanced over and found a large public bathhouse.

Every small town had one. Most inns’ cheapest rooms lacked washrooms, so you went to a bathhouse to bathe. Because of her tight purse strings, even a neat person like Moga normally only went every ten days or so, and often—like yesterday—scrubbed hastily with cold water in a public washroom.

But now things were different. She had enough money for such indulgence, and a full day’s adventure left her sticky with sweat, dust, and the rot of the ruins. She desperately wanted a hot bath to wash away the fatigue.

Just as she was about to act on that impulse, another thought poured cold water over her excitement.

She remembered the Evil God was still coiled around her waist—if she went into the bath, wouldn’t it see her naked?

Instantly her mood sank. She didn’t know the deity’s gender, but from their interactions so far, its personality didn’t feel feminine at all. Being naked in front of it—even if it had no gender—was more than she could bear.

Looks like I won’t be bathing anymore, she lamented inwardly, and nonchalantly pulled her gaze away, walking straight past the bathhouse door.

Ten minutes later, back in her inn room, Moga habitually picked up the old basin from the rack to fetch cold water and scrub herself.

Just as she lifted the basin, she heard the Evil God suddenly ask, “Aren’t you going to take a bath?”

“Huh?”

“I saw you eyeing the bathhouse. And with your current state, you really should wash.”

“I— I—” For a moment Moga didn’t know how to answer; of course she wanted to go, but with it on her body, how could she bathe? She couldn’t exactly bathe for it to watch.

She bit her lip and fumbled for an excuse, then heard the Evil God say, “I can wait in the room for you.”

Moga was genuinely stunned this time.

Could an Evil God be this considerate? Was that even possible?

“Really? Lord Evil God?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off?”

“The money’s here—would you?”

“Well, I could report you to the church. If the shrine comes, you’ll have to flee—”

“So do you want to bathe or not?”

“…Bath.” After hesitating a few seconds, Moga finally nodded heavily. “Lord Evil God, I’ll be back soon.”

“Go.”

Moga quickly dug out a clean set of rough linen clothes from the chest, grabbed a few copper coins, and pushed the door open. At the moment the door clicked shut, she looked back warily and saw the Evil God coiled on the bedclothes, motionless.

She hurried down into the deepening night and melted into the shadows. Passing the town center, the construction site of the new Crimson Sanctuary blazed with light; temple knights in bright silver armor stood guard.

This was normal. A town that had discovered an ultra-ancient ruin often grew into an adventurer city centered on hunting monsters, just as a mining site would spawn a resource town. Churches weren’t just for faith—they also served as clinics and for exorcising evil, and were important even for faithless adventurers.

Standing at the crossroads, Moga hesitated.

Clearly this was the perfect escape opportunity. The Crimson Sanctuary was one of the three great godly churches, with powerful priests and paladins. If she sought their help, the weakened Evil God might be destroyed immediately. She could reclaim today’s haul and perhaps win an extra reward from the Sanctuary. On paper, it seemed like the perfect, most reasonable choice.

And who would accept their life and freedom being controlled by someone else? That would be no different to being a slave.

So… should she go?

She pursed her lips and replayed the day’s experiences in her head, her expression shifting.

Yvette had waited in the Old Oak Inn room for a long time—three full hours.

Only at midnight, when the tavern downstairs quieted and light footfalls approached, did the inn door swing open.

Steaming and with a basket of wet clothes, Moga entered and apologized, “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Lord Evil God.”

She wore plain linen, her damp golden hair tied back with a cloth strip, her cheeks flushed by the hot water like a ripe peach—fragrant and sweet—completely different from her dusty, gray-faced departure.

“Slow,” Yvette’s voice sounded in her mind, and the familiar cold, slimy touch wrapped around Moga’s waist again.

“I fell asleep in there,” Moga said, embarrassed.

Yvette hummed, offering no complaint.

After a moment, they extinguished the light and Moga lay down to sleep. Though she still shared the bed with the Evil God, she felt unexpectedly calm—far less uneasy than last night—and probably wouldn’t dream that nightmare of being violated by it.

In the end she hadn’t gone to the Crimson Sanctuary for help; she couldn’t explain why she chose not to.

Maybe because from yesterday until now, despite terrible words, the Evil God hadn’t actually done anything truly horrific and had even offered help.

And Moga Smollet, for her part, was someone who acknowledged kindness and had principles and limits. After receiving a favor, she couldn’t betray her benefactor—no matter that benefactor was an Evil God.