Lich Sloane was still being hunted.
The director of the Holy Church's Inquisition—Ithan McCarthy—was personally leading the operation to encircle and eliminate him.
The hunt had begun after the preliminary selection ended and had continued for nearly five hours.
Yet the Holy Church had gained very little. Liches were exceptionally cunning.
That was humanity's ingrained impression of such creatures.
After all, any necromancer capable of transforming themselves into a Lich was a master-level figure.
Their intelligence in their fields of research was nothing short of astonishing. If directed toward endeavors beneficial to human development, they would have been hailed as "treasures of humanity."
No one doubted the intelligence of Liches.
But due to the negative impression people held of Liches, "intelligent" became "cunning."
And Sloane was especially cunning.
In his past conflicts with the Holy Church, he had toyed with its personnel countless times.
Though even a horse could stumble in the end, no one could deny that he had tangled with the Holy Church alone for decades.
What was more, the current Sloane had received the favor of an "evil god."
He had become stronger—and more cunning.
Moreover, with that Saintess's suicide, he had even fewer weaknesses. Tonight.
The Holy Church had spotted Sloane's trail eighteen times in total.
But sixteen times, they had seen only Sloane's back. On the other two occasions, they had run into people from other factions.
Setting aside those two special cases, in the remaining sixteen encounters, Sloane seemed to deliberately expose a flaw before showing them his back, humiliating them to the fullest extent possible.
Director McCarthy was so furious that his beard stood on end. He swore that once he caught Sloane, he would personally hack him into pieces!
But Sloane was like a loach, slipping through the Free City's streets—slick and