There Is No World For ■■

"Therefore, arise. Obtain your glory. Conquer your adversaries and enjoy a prosperous kingdom."

Excerpt from Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 11

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The moment she faced the saintess’s empty room, Natsukawa, the first-year priest of Lord Howe Academy, was not surprised.

Perhaps it was because she had expected something like this to happen someday. Or maybe it was because she had already experienced the saintess's first "escape."

Of course, staying calm was one thing, but the situation itself was another.

As soon as she saw the empty room—especially with all the holy relics gone—she immediately called for Hoana Thule and the headmaster.

"The saintess? Ha... I'll check the airport records right away," said the headmaster, his tone flustered.

Hoana Thule, however, remained composed, far more so than Natsukawa had anticipated.

"She held out longer than I expected."

While Hoana and Natsukawa searched the entire academy and the headmaster retrieved the saintess's record of boarding a flight at dawn, Natsukawa's phone rang.

[Saintess]

To her disbelief, the saintess was making an international call. Collect.

"...Saintess?"

Hoana answered the call, reasoning that Natsukawa might say something disrespectful.

On the other end, the saintess’s usual cheeky voice came through.

"Hoana, when I ran away to Manchuria last time, who suffered because of it?"

It was a blunt and considerate question in its own way. Hoana smiled faintly as she answered.

"The guards assigned to protect you faced some discipline."

"Were they dishonorably discharged?"

"No, they’re still serving in the knightly order without issue."

Her father had thoroughly reprimanded them in the meantime, but Hoana deemed that detail unnecessary to mention.

"Then if I run away again, will you get fired?"

"...Perhaps. But I’ve already retired, so you needn’t worry about me."

"Sorry about this. I’ll bring back something delicious as an apology when I return."

"Wait, Saintess. Before you hang up, one last question. Are you with that raven?"

"Corvus? Yes, he’s with me."

"Ah, then I’ll handle matters here. Just tell him to earn his keep."

With that, Hoana ended the call.

Natsukawa, who had been recording the conversation, asked if they shouldn’t try persuading her. Hoana’s response was succinct.

"Persuade the saintess? How?"

"...."

"Don’t worry. Just pray."

"Why are you so relaxed? What will you even put in your report to the priestly order? That the saintess acts of her own accord—"

"That’s a political issue, not a matter of faith."

Hoana gazed toward the distant direction of the Chicago Gate.

"Do not doubt her, Natsukawa. The saintess sees further than we do."

****

The saintess was indeed gazing far beyond.

Over Lake Michigan, toward the massive dimensional gate shimmering atop an artificial island.

The one Earthlings referred to as the Chicago Gate.

Despite the endless flow of trucks and people passing through the gate, her eyes were fixed firmly on the world beyond it.

Or, more precisely, on the future that would soon unfold.

"...Saintess?"

Her foresight was interrupted by a familiar dwarven voice.

Turning her head, she saw a dwarf bowing cautiously toward her, his hands adorned with rings.

The saintess smiled, accepting his greeting.

"It must’ve been a difficult request, but thank you for fulfilling it, Darulma."

"If the saintess herself asks, how could I refuse?"

Despite his words, Darulma’s face showed deep fatigue.

It was understandable. Clearing an illegal entry route and smuggling heavy weaponry within half a day wasn’t easy, even for someone as resourceful as him.

"I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ride in the truck container to cross the gate."

"No need to apologize. Thank you for accommodating my selfishness."

Darulma bowed deeply, his expression one of mixed exhaustion and gratitude.

As the saintess approached the prepared container truck, the massive raven by her side clicked its beak.

"Saintess, you’re leaving empty-handed?"

"...What?"

"The old knight might not care, but this dwarf will be interrogated. At least tell him where you’re going."

Darulma coughed awkwardly, feigning indifference, though he seemed touched by her concern.

"Oh... my apologies, Darulma. I hadn’t thought of that."

The saintess paused, lost in thought. How much should she reveal?

If she said she was headed to Drayterial, Darulma could easily deduce what was happening in the city. The priests in the Holy City and the Americans might figure it out, too.

They’d speculate on her motives, fear her intentions, or even try to interfere.

The saintess didn’t want that. The fewer variables in her foresight, the better.

Thus, she spoke a truth designed to mislead.

"The Dwarf Mountains. I plan to ride a bike there first."

Darulma’s face betrayed his surprise at the unexpected answer.

"May I ask why?"

"To meet someone. Or maybe not someone... let’s just say a friend."

A brief silence followed.

As the dwarf tried to process her words, the container truck that would transport her through the gate approached.

"Is it the friend I think it is?"

As the truck came to a halt, Darulma asked carefully. His tone was hesitant, as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

The raven glanced at the saintess, puzzled by the question. But she only responded with a cryptic smile.

Watching her expression, Darulma’s eyes widened in realization.

"...Please tell your friend that it was an honor to assist them. Saintess."

Leaving those words behind, the saintess climbed into the container. The truck, loaded with weapons, a bike, and the saintess herself, rumbled off, leaving behind a trail of thick exhaust.

As Darulma watched the truck disappear toward the dimensional gate, he bowed his head deeply, almost instinctively.

****

Yeomyeong lifted his head.

The concrete room where Seti and Neti had been moments ago had transformed into a snowy plain.

The change occurred less than a second after he infused mana into the forbidden relic.

Entering a trance-like state this quickly? Yeomyeong frowned, scanning his surroundings.

But upon closer inspection, the snowfield felt far from a trance or mental realm.

How to describe it? It was like a scene from a movie or a game—a world visible only to the eyes.

The usual tactile sensations of a trance or inner world were absent.

Even while standing in the middle of a snowstorm, he felt no cold, which confirmed his suspicion.

Each forbidden relic had its unique way of revealing visions. Was this one of them?

As Yeomyeong pondered briefly, something shimmered amidst the snow.

A glint from a scope unfamiliar to him.

Bang!

Yeomyeong instinctively ducked, and a bullet grazed his hair.

As strands of his hair fluttered down, he created an ice spike and launched it in the direction of the shot.

The spike embedded itself into the scope without a sound.

But there was no blood—his assailant had already discarded the rifle and thrown themselves to safety.

“Damn it!”

The sniper cursed loudly, dressed head-to-toe in white camouflage, exuding the sharp air of a special forces operative.

Who is this? Is this some kind of trial from the relic?

Whatever it was, Yeomyeong had no intention of letting them go after being shot at.

He formed another ice spike and hurled it, but the sniper drew a pistol from their belt and shot the spike out of the air.

The marksmanship was almost unbelievable.

Yeomyeong was impressed but not alarmed. If an ice spike didn’t work, he’d use his sword.

With his decision made, Yeomyeong channeled mana into his calves and initiated a step technique.

The snow, nearly knee-high, clung to his legs, but his mana parted it like a snowplow, propelling him forward.

“You reckless bastard—”

The sniper cursed as they fled in the opposite direction, but Yeomyeong answered with another ice spike.

Each time, a bullet intercepted the spike, but the sniper never aimed directly at Yeomyeong.

Was it because of the pistol’s limited range? No, it felt more deliberate, like...

At that moment, Yeomyeong’s foot caught on something.

An advanced reflex allowed him to leap away as soon as he heard the click, but the sniper capitalized on the opening.

One explosion, followed by the crack of a gunshot.

The blast erupted inches away as Yeomyeong landed in the snow, narrowly dodging a bullet aimed at his forehead.

Had this been before he mastered telekinesis, the shot would have ended him.

But that was before.

Just as the bullet was about to reach him, his telekinesis activated, catching the projectile mid-air.

“Ha—!”

The sniper, seeing the suspended bullet, let out a disbelieving laugh before bolting across the snowfield again.

This time, Yeomyeong refrained from charging recklessly. Instead, he balanced on his toes and stepped lightly across the snow.

A feather-light step, compressed to its limit, allowed him to glide across the surface without leaving a trace.

“...Treading Snow Without a Trace?”

The sniper muttered something incomprehensible before turning and firing again.

But not at Yeomyeong—at a booby trap they had planted.

BOOM!

The explosion roared, hurling shards of metal and heat in every direction.

Yeomyeong raised his arm to shield his head and reinforced himself with mana, but he couldn’t absorb all the force.

He rolled across the snow, leaving a long trail, just as the sniper reloaded their pistol.

Through the smoke of the explosion, a faint glimmer emerged.

The sniper noticed it too late.

By the time they turned their head, the ice spike was already inches from their face.

Thwack! The military-grade balaclava tore as blood splattered through the gap.

It wasn’t a fatal wound. The spike had severed an ear and left blood streaming along their jawline, but it wasn’t lethal.

“Well, aren’t you a pro?”

The sniper clutched their wound, revealing a face so ordinary it felt out of place—a typical Slavic man, the kind you might find anywhere in Russia.

They stared at the spot where Yeomyeong had rolled before leaping to a new position.

But the ground they had landed on erupted with invisible telekinesis, scattering snow into the air.

The sniper thought they’d dodged it, but the real target wasn’t them—it was their visibility.

The rising snow obscured their vision for a split second.

And that was all Yeomyeong needed.

Crunch.

Yeomyeong landed before them, closing the distance where swords and guns held equal reach.

A heavy silence hung between them as their gazes locked.

The sniper’s finger twitched over their pistol, while Yeomyeong had already drawn his blade.

The tension reached its peak, and Yeomyeong broke the silence.

“This test seems sufficient. Should I go all the way and cut your throat?”

The sniper burst out laughing.

Blood poured from their severed ear, staining the snow beneath them red, but they kept laughing as if they didn’t care.

“More than enough! You’d be a rare sight even in Spetsnaz. That moron Mori... No, that idiot daughter-doting fool found the right person after all.”

Daughter-doting fool? Yeomyeong frowned slightly, but the sniper continued unabated.

“I’ve been waiting since Manchuria, wondering when you’d finally use me. I was curious why you’d let a relic like this gather dust, but now I see—you were waiting for the perfect moment.”

“...Perfect moment?”

Yeomyeong tilted his head, unsure what they were talking about.

He had only used the relic to learn its technique before using it as bait. What was this nonsense?

Perhaps misunderstanding his expression, the sniper patted Yeomyeong’s shoulder with a knowing look.

“Ha, no, not just perfect—flawless. To think the legacy of the old Soviet Union lies beneath your feet, beyond the dimensional gate.”

“...”

The old Soviet Union’s... what? Yeomyeong furrowed his brows.

“No Yankees or Moscow idiots here—just this land where we can finally fulfill the Blue Rat’s long-cherished wish... Wait, that expression. Don’t tell me...”

The sniper finally noticed Yeomyeong’s confused and incredulous expression.

After a moment of awkward silence, the sniper asked hesitantly, “You... didn’t activate me to find the secret armory, did you?”