The high-level southern team of the Church of the Goddess of Harvest ultimately fell in the next match.
Malin was already surprised that they managed to defeat the high-level southern team of the Church of Justice; after all, the only ones who typically arm-wrestle with the high-level teams from the Church of Justice are the Church of the War God or the Church of the Night Goddess. Churches like the Goddess of Harvest, known for their elegance and amicability, hadn’t made it into the top eight in the last century.
They hadn’t even made it into the top one hundred before. Their best record was fifty years ago when the northern team fought in the preliminaries.
So, this kind of strength to compete with the Church of Justice and emerge victorious was a first in this era.
That’s why the southern province was abuzz for the past few days, with several agricultural newspapers run by the Church of the Goddess of Harvest boasting about the event.
Malin was also profoundly touched by this.
He heard that the southern team fought until the very end, and when their teammates were out of strength, the still-mobile apprentices struggled to their feet, carrying the opponents from the Church of Justice off the playing field.
On the battlefield, such actions usually imply pulling something along; it’s a textbook mutual destruction tactic, so the mentors from both sides were quite moved when they witnessed it.
Then, because the fight against the Church of Justice was so fierce, more than half the apprentices were injured or had their Healing Spells pushed to the limit, ultimately leading them to withdraw before the match even started.
Even so, it was an honor, and Malin made a point of sending each of them five hundred Mowish through the Church—enough for them to buy something nice. A standard-issue rifle from Malin’s workshop only cost one hundred fifty, after all.
This thing was accurate within three hundred yards, far more useful than bow and crossbow in situations where you don’t need to hide the sound of gunfire.
And Malin didn’t plan to let them pay for it, either; one rifle each, to be claimed with their apprentice identification.
With no more matches, Malin found his movements much freer. He could have afternoon tea with the girls or loiter around eating and drinking with Logan.
In the meantime, Malin had a meeting with His Lordship the Baron of Silent Hill.
They were quite a distance apart, but the young man immediately noticed Malin—after all, Malin was watching him with Psychic Detection activated, and the effect of this Spell Formation against a Psychic was like a submarine pinging an enemy with active radar.
Across half the square, Malin and the Baron smiled at each other, like old friends.
"What were you just smiling about?" Logan asked Malin as they entered the restaurant.
"Ran into an acquaintance," Malin replied with a smile.
"...I think there’s something off about you. It wasn’t one of your lovers you met outside, was it? Just so you know, I have a cousin and two second cousins among your girls. If you mess up, I’ll blow the whistle on you," Logan said as he took the menu.
"...No, it’s not that. How many relatives do you have exactly?" Malin leaned back on the soft cushion of the chair beside him.
"That I don’t know," Logan replied swiftly as he ordered several meat dishes, then passed the menu to Malin, "Your turn. I ordered three meat dishes for you; the Salo Beast Hooves here are said to rival the cuisine of Thainan."
Malin quickly selected a few desserts, including a large honey cocoa powder cake.
"Every time I see what you order, I’m reminded you’re a giant." Logan watched Malin hand the menu to the waiter, almost in awe of Malin’s appetite: "Seriously, are you still in that active phase of your bloodline?"
"Yeah, what can I do?" Malin got a bit frustrated when it came up. Others in their bloodline active phase became either elf-like hunks or towering strongmen, but he, Malin Gaiate, turned into what looked like a harmless little cutie.
Yes, "looked harmless"—those were damning and self-defeating words. Just yesterday, a half-grown Noble from the East who might have been goaded on by his meat-and-wine pals challenged Malin foolishly.
Malin initially ignored him, but when the glove was thrown in his face, a duel was inevitable.
The result was the young Noble crumpled to the ground from a blow with the scabbard, paralysed from a high injury, and he’s still in the emergency ward of the Church of the Benevolent Goddess, having his damaged spine repaired.
Malin had already restrained his strength, and he hadn’t even drawn his sword because he instinctively felt the kid had little skill; he was afraid of accidentally killing him with a full-force blow.
Killing him was no big deal. Malin just didn’t want to expose his true strength. However, to his surprise, the kid really couldn’t handle even forty percent of Malin’s strength, and got floored, still clutching his sword.
Half of those watching the duel knew what they were seeing, and the place filled with jeers—one half because the kid was all show and no substance, and the other because he couldn’t even beat someone like Malin.
"Your comment is interesting. It reminds me of that guy from yesterday. You’ve been in the Capital for a while now; where did these fools come from, looking to get themselves killed?" Logan mused as if an idea struck him: "Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you something."
"What?" Malin yawned—he really hadn’t been sleeping well due to the recent mental and physical demands.
"My family has been a bit dissatisfied with the progress of my Sequence. I am wondering whether I should learn a short Sequence to supplement it," Logan said.
This question puzzled Malin: "Haven’t you just reached the seventh rung recently?"
"Yes, and I thought I was doing exceptionally well," said Logan, looking quite distressed.
Malin squinted—couldn’t this guy stop bragging for once?