The Undying Witch continued her frenzied howls within the Spirit World. Even with the prison suppressing her, her overwhelming power and high-tier mysticism still sent nearby Spirit World creatures fleeing in terror.
Yet once they escaped, they would cautiously return after her madness subsided ever so slightly.
To them, the intense emotions radiating from the Undying Witch were like soma, rich, intoxicating, and dangerously addictive.
Because of this, countless Spirit World creatures lingered around the shattered prison. The closer they got, the more powerful and terrifying they became.
At the same time, as the Witch's shrieks grew more hysterical, several mocking chuckles echoed from beyond the Spirit World.
They too were exiled Great Existences. However, they had been banished even farther, so far that even the Spirit World could barely reach them.
Within the Spirit World and beyond it, everywhere were unfathomable entities and unseeable gods.
Only the material world could barely be called a sanctuary for intelligent life.
The Great Ones mocked the Witch's futile struggle. A prison built with a Saint's life was not something that could be broken by mere screams.
What sounded like mockery was, in truth, closer to envy.
They envied that the Witch's shackles were far smaller and simpler than their own.
After all, she had only been exiled by a Saint.
But they had been cast out by true gods.
They could foresee the day the Witch's prison would finally crumble.
Yet they had no idea when they themselves would ever return to their lost divine kingdoms.
Thus, their mockery was both their identity and their helplessness.
Meanwhile, Mozo suddenly sneezed several times in a row.
It felt like somewhere, in some unknown corner, something was cursing him.
After coughing lightly, Mozo decided not to dwell on it. After all, there were probably plenty of people and even gods who cursed him.
Shaking his head, he pulled out the automaton core from his bag.
Looking at the crimson core, Mozo felt a bit puzzled.
He clearly remembered that when these imitation Golden Legion automatons were first created, they were only meant to have basic combat capabilities. Their purpose had never been as soldiers, but as maintenance units.
Yet this one had not only resisted the erosion of time, unlike the others that had fallen into slumber underground, but had remained active until now, even possessing formidable combat strength.
It might not have been obvious when fighting the Shadow Mage, but this thing had chased Audrey's four-man team into complete disarray.
Under normal circumstances, a prepared team of four Beyonders should have been able to dismantle it.
But not only did they fail, they even ended up with Audrey branded as a slave.
And then there was the core itself.
Mozo distinctly remembered it being blue.
But this one had turned red.
This was definitely not a sign of energy depletion. On the contrary, the core was still brimming with powerful energy.
He couldn't explain it.
The most reasonable guess was that, over the long passage of time, it had undergone some kind of unexpected mutation, acquiring a unique supernatural trait.
Unfortunately, he had no way of analyzing what exactly it had become.
Still, he knew how to make use of it.
The core of an elven automaton was one of the pinnacles of elven craftsmanship. As long as there was a suitable body, it could be perfectly integrated.
Mozo planned to acquire a compatible body once he had enough spare funds, allowing it to serve him again.
There should be automaton markets outside the Special District. A body alone wasn't too expensive, after all, the core was the truly valuable part.
Especially a well-mutated ancient core like this, it was priceless.
If he hadn't saved Miss Windsor along the way, the authorities would never have handed this over to him.
Right, the Holy Night Festival is coming up in a couple of days. I should start preparing.
The Holy Night Festival, the day to honor the countless Holy Spirits, was the grandest celebration in the world.
In a sense, it was the New Year of this world.
The next morning, Mozo woke up early, washed up, and prepared to head to the university library.
Life might no longer be a struggle from now on, but studying was still something worth doing.
As he went downstairs, he saw his landlord pouring a large pile of candies into glass jars, preparing for the children during the Holy Night Festival.
Unlike Halloween, children in this world didn't dress up as ghosts to ask for candy.
Because ghosts actually existed here.
Who would dare pretend to be one?
However, during the Holy Night Festival, children were allowed to go door to door in groups asking for sweets.
On this day, even the poorest child could knock on a noble's door and receive candies they would never taste otherwise.
This custom was protected by both tradition and law.
You could refuse, but you couldn't insult or harm them.
Otherwise, both the Church of Victory and the courts would come knocking.
Thinking of this, Mozo couldn't help but smile.
After all, the origin of this tradition had something to do with him.
But more importantly, it came from a certain goddess.
The protector of all children.
The ruler of dreams and night, of ceremonies and thresholds, of glory and victory.
All that exists belongs to Your divine kingdom, Your glory, Your will.
You are the sole salvation of Your flock.
O exalted Goddess of Victory.
The Goddess of Victory, the sole bearer of the Victory Path, also known as the War Path.
She governed war, night, dreams, rituals, and thresholds.
A deity active since the Age of Gods.
She loved victory and the grand ceremonies that followed it.
She also adored children, quietly watching over their dreams at night.
Thus, she became the guardian of all children.
It was said that when children were afraid, a prayer to the Goddess of Victory would bring her angels and warriors to their side.
And the custom of giving sweets during the Holy Night Festival also originated from her.
Back when she still walked the mortal world, she would personally hand out delicious sweets to children on this day.
After she ascended to her divine kingdom, her followers continued the tradition.
Over time, it became a custom shared by all races across the world.
After all, children are the future.
No matter what, children must not suffer.
That saying from the Church of Victory had once been something Mozo himself told the Goddess.
Seeing Mozo come down, the landlord stopped what he was doing and tossed him a few candies.
"They're nothing special, but my daughters love them. They say they're really sweet, give them a try."
Catching the candies, Mozo chuckled.
"Sir, I'm legally an adult."
The landlord laughed and shook his head.
"I'm forty-two. How old are you?"
Mozo scratched his head, thanked him, and left the apartment, heading toward the university.