The disappearance of the invisible eye made Yvette, whose true body was far away in the Terminus, raise an eyebrow. It ended too quickly for her to fully understand what that power had been, but it looked like a form of remote force transmission—the core attack was pure mental erosion, a variant of soul magic.

Then, before others arrived, she quickly withdrew beneath Moga’s clothes, quietly activating her devouring ability and began absorbing the alien soul marks that had invaded Moga’s body.

By devouring those spirits, Yvette found the soul runes to be in a bizarrely chaotic state—very similar to the infection effects of the mutation factor, like a soul plague that induced madness.

Is this what they call Eldritch contamination?

Immediately, aided by the soul-devouring power gained from her latest evolution, Yvette sucked away the chaotic will tearing at Moga’s sanity.

Very soon, the half-elf girl’s amber eyes cleared, and the warped vision before her smoothed out.

“Ugh—” Moga collapsed to her knees, out of strength, gasping; cold sweat drenched her hairline, and the relief of surviving washed over her.

Thank goodness the Eldritch God intervened! she thought gratefully—if she’d stared so rashly into another Eldritch being’s eye a moment ago, she’d have been contaminated for sure, turned into a raving cultist like the one beside her!

A few seconds later, the foaming, crazed man lay limp on the ground, utterly silent as if passed out.

Then the dead silence of the alley was broken by hurried footsteps; three clergy in differing robes appeared at the mouth of the lane.

Leading them was the elven priest from the Evergreen Revelation who had scanned her earlier.

They held faintly glowing holy emblems and swept the scene warily, their eyes flicking between the man on the ground and Moga, pale and half-kneeling.

“What happened here, miss half-elf?” the elven priest asked—matters concerning elves and half-elves naturally fell to him first.

Moga took a breath, forced herself up, and spoke calmly and steadily: “Sir Priest, I’m a local adventurer. I followed this man because his behavior was suspicious and was attacked. He uses illusion; after I saw through it his body gave off a very wicked aura, and finally an eye-like thing appeared—after that, I… I don’t know what happened; once the eye appeared, he went mad.”

After hearing Moga’s account, the elven priest and the clergy from the Crimson Sanctuary and Trinity Church exchanged looks and simultaneously cast a special sensing spell to examine the scene.

Then a paladin from the Crimson Sanctuary said gravely, “…It’s true. This man’s been contaminated by an Eldritch God—he’s likely the cultist we’ve been searching for.”

A Trinity Church cleric glanced at Moga in surprise and said, “But this half-elf girl is unharmed—completely free of contamination. How fortunate.”

The elven priest nodded and regarded Moga with a hint of approval: “Well done, young half-elf. Your vigilance and courage prevented more innocents from suffering. I think the reason you were spared is that the Tree God sensed your pure will and granted you protection.”

Elves and half-elves alike were nearly always followers of the Tree God, so the elven priest’s words were reasonable; in everyone’s eyes,

being blessed by the Tree God was the highest honor—something desirable and not easily obtained, and nobody would refuse it.

What he didn’t know was that the half-elf before him was already a favored of an Eldritch God; her first reaction wasn’t joy

but a quiet irritation—thinking that it was the Eldritch God who had saved her, so what did the Tree God have to do with it, and why claim the credit?

Of course she wouldn’t say that aloud, so she lowered her gaze to hide the complex emotions in her eyes, then replied in an impassive tone, “It’s what I should have done.”

Over the next month, Moga became the talk of Adelock.

After all, without her, who knew how long the town’s prolonged martial law would have lasted? That alone earned the townsfolk’s gratitude.

So when the three churches jointly posted commendations all over the notice board, she instantly rose to fame; wherever she went, adventurers and townspeople greeted her respectfully, calling her a hero who had purged the corruption, and even gave her a nickname—

“Wind Ranger.”

A few days later, the joint reward from the three churches arrived at her cottage: a generous sum of money and a merit emblem inscribed with purification runes—the exorcism badge.

Leaving the money aside, the exorcism badge was a fine magitechnic device, built-in with holy light magic and particularly effective against undead-type monsters.

After gratefully accepting the badge and watching the church party leave, she sat alone in her cottage, staring at the wildflowers swaying by the fence and let out a long breath.

“Why — you don’t look very happy,” Yvette asked.

“No, no. It’s just that without you I couldn’t have caught that cultist. The townsfolk calling me a hero makes me a bit embarrassed,” Moga admitted shyly. “Also, my performance that day—wasn’t great. I was reckless and careless in many ways. I’m sorry for not living up to your tutelage.”

“Hm—actually I haven’t really trained you much.”

…

Moga’s mood sank for real—she thought to herself she really hadn’t been chosen by the Eldritch God.

She sighed inwardly, looking like a puppy wronged, and then heard Yvette ask, “Suppose—just suppose—you became strong in the future, what would you want to do?”

“Become strong?” Moga blinked, wondering if they were just chatting. After thinking for a moment she answered hesitantly, “I want—”

to make a name for myself on the continent, then return to the Elven Kingdom’s capital and buy a respectable manor—prove to my father that I can live well without him——

Realizing how vulgar that wish sounded, she blushed and nervously scuffed at the floor with her toe.

But that was the underlying goal of her years of wandering: to return in glory and shock the relatives, siblings, and father who’d looked down on her—give them a taste of humble pie.

If it weren’t for a year of living with the Eldritch God and gaining enough trust, she as a distant, solitary lone wolf would never have spoken this secret out loud.

“Hm, and after you achieve that?”

“After that I suppose I’d like to accomplish something big—though I haven’t decided what yet—” Moga said, troubled.

Years of worldly experience had made her practical; she rarely indulged in pipe-dreams like “what to spend lottery winnings on.” Being asked to imagine something fanciful left her at a loss.

After five full minutes of thought she offered uncertainly, “For example—like a legendary mage, defeat a Demon King, save the world?”

Of course that was a wildly unrealistic fantasy. The demonkind’s north-south civil war raged on, and the Radiant Continent would likely remain peaceful for a long time—there was no world to save here—and the epic’s archvillain, the Terminus Witch, had already died with the legendary mage.

“Not bad,” Yvette encouraged. “Then work hard. I estimate in two or three years I’ll reach the time of my departure. Before I go, if you satisfy me, I’ll give you a gift—perhaps something that can help your dream.”

Moga fell silent.

Normally receiving a gift from an Eldritch God would sound wonderful, but the moment she caught the “two or three years” limit, her spirits drooped. After ten or so seconds she managed a faint “hm.”

She whispered, “I won’t let you down, my lord Eldritch.”

Without making it explicit, in the following period Yvette began treating Moga as an officially listed disciple—an old-fashioned probationary tutelage.

Unlike before—when Yvette had been half-hearted teaching Moga magic, giving only fragmented, watered-down beginner spells with no real system—now she taught from the works she’d once carefully designed. Many of those techniques had been simplified earlier for quick use, sacrificing much.

But now she directly taught the content she’d painstakingly designed for the Gale Grimoire. Though the difficulty rose sharply, anyone could see the future potential of these high-level magics.

And so, within a systematic magic curriculum, days passed one by one. The fire in the hearth popped softly,

burning the last embers away.

Outside, the rain had stopped without her noticing, and in its place, fine snow silently began to fall, laying a thin new white across Adelock’s roofs and fences.

Time moved on quietly, and before she knew it, three years had passed.