Competing for Favor

Alice met this Zuan... no, this "Angel of Sacred Word."

The frequency of the lightning had already decreased. As a figure gradually emerged from the dim yellow mist, Alice nearly thought it was some particularly powerful monster.

In that brief instant, Alice raised the scythe called Doom and pointed it at his River of Fate, only to discover that he was not a monster—just remarkably similar to one.

Alice pretended nothing had happened and called out to the figure in the mist:

"Styver?"

The figure slowly approached and stopped before Alice. He carried neither lantern nor torch; instead, he held a scroll. All Alice could see was a patch of deep black—the clerical robe he wore.

Styver was over two meters tall. He did not appear as tall as Leomaster, but he was nearly the same height as the Chief of the City of Silver in his normal state. Alice looked up at him and caught sight of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the scar by his mouth, and his slightly bowed back.

Could Angels... grow old too?

Alice lowered her head to look at herself and fell into deep thought.

...Could I still grow taller, then?

Styver had a pair of dark brown eyes. He calmly lowered his head and asked:

"You carry the Lord's aura... Who are you?"

Alice first checked whether the True Creator was watching her.

This was not exactly reliable. Alice already knew that if an existence of that level watched her without wanting to be noticed, there was probably nothing she could do about it. Even so, she chose to behave differently in those two situations—at the very least, she would be a little more polite when being watched.

Unable to sense that powerful, reassuring gaze, Alice let out a breath,