The Extinguished Moon

“Today marks the first subject of the Divine Official selection: a contest of Divine Arts.

With all candidates and assessors now present, I shall proceed to read the terms and conditions.”

Doron raised the scepter in his hand, tapping it twice against the ground.

The metallic tip striking the flagstones produced two distinct ‘clinks’.

“This subject is designed to assess the candidates’ individual proficiency in Divine Arts.

Aside from the three candidates currently on the platform, no one else is permitted to interfere with the assessment process.

During the contest, candidates are forbidden from employing any means other than Divine Arts to compete, such as offensive martial arts, weaponry, or magic.

Those found guilty of severe rule infractions may, after deliberation, be disqualified as candidates.

Anyone determined to have used magic will be handed over to the Vero City Court for strict prosecution, in accordance with the ‘Olavi Imperial Constitution’ and the ‘Olavi Imperial Anti-Wizardry Act’.”

Upon hearing this, Kaelan let out a soft scoff.

She was clearly displeased with the church’s blatant double standards, forcibly distinguishing “Divine Arts” from “magic.”

So, how exactly would they determine if a candidate was using Divine Arts or magic?

First and foremost, a candidate certainly couldn’t conjure a massive storm or hurl a barrage of fireballs, then brazenly claim it was a Divine Art of the Moon-Marked Sect.

Anyone audacious enough to attempt such a feat under the watchful eyes of the crowd would surely be delusional.

As Kaelan had pointed out, Divine Arts were fundamentally a form of light magic, and within the Moon-Marked Sect’s doctrine, their Divine Arts were intrinsically linked to the moon.

Therefore, any spell that produced sparkling effects or distinctly lunar elements after casting would be deemed a legitimate Divine Art.

To put it plainly, the assessors were largely simpletons; they understood nothing of magic.

They would merely observe the candidates’ spell effects, searching for visual elements they recognized and approved of.

Even if they perceived a minor discrepancy, they rarely pointed it out sharply.

The powers backing each candidate were considerable, and some even maintained cooperative relationships.

Should anyone accuse another of being a “wizard”—an extremely grave charge—it would undoubtedly ignite a struggle between two or even multiple factions.

Such a conflict would likely result in a brutal, mutually destructive outcome, rendering it unnecessary to escalate matters.

As long as a candidate’s display wasn’t overly abstract, the assessors, even if they found the “Divine Art” somewhat unconvincing, would at most simply withhold their vote.

“Each candidate must first ascend the platform individually for a preliminary test.

They are to freely cast a single Divine Art, demonstrating their proficiency before being allowed to participate in the subsequent contest.”

Doron grasped the scepter with both hands, raising it high above his head.

He aimed it at the crescent moon emblem suspended overhead and loudly issued commands to the Divine Guards.

“Extinguish the lights, and close the doors and windows!”

The Divine Guards drew the curtains and snuffed out the candles.

The front hall of the sanctuary plunged into immediate darkness.

From the tip of the scepter, a silver beam, no thicker than a strand of hair, shot forth.

It pierced directly into the platinum crescent moon above, which instantly became dazzling.

The crescent emitted a faint, cold light in all directions, becoming the sole source of illumination in the grand hall.

Some audience members, witnessing this spectacle for the first time, let out hushed murmurs of awe.

“The Sacred Moon has been activated.

Three candidates, you may now ascend.”

It was evident that the scepter and the crescent moon emblem hanging in the front hall were a matched set of magic artifacts.

The holy light emanating from the platinum crescent was intended for the candidates to draw upon for their spellcasting.

Dalia Aurelius was the first to step onto the platform.

This slightly plump candidate, with her generous figure, stood firmly on the stage, clutching a silver short staff.

She pointed it towards the stark white crescent moon.

The light radiating from the crescent began to waver, and Dalia Aurelius seemed to pull a piece of it away.

The halo on its surface flowed like dewdrops, coalescing into a perfectly round orb of light that slowly drifted down from above.

“Oh…”

Amidst the hushed gasps of the audience, Dalia Aurelius’s lips moved slightly.

With a flick and a twist of her short staff, the orb of light above her head immediately began to spin at high speed.

One side contracted, and its ends sharpened, forming an elegant crescent arc.

As her staff lowered, the crescent before Dalia Aurelius transformed into a fleeting stream of light, dissolving into the air.

Thunderous applause erupted throughout the hall.

“Hmm… I’d give that a nine,” Kaelan mused, “This Dalia is far, far better than Paresha Greystone.”

Kaelan watched the dissipating magical light for a moment, offering her assessment with a casual air.

Saranya, seated beside Kaelan, looked astonished.

“That high?” she asked.

“Out of a hundred,” Kaelan clarified.

“Ah… then Paresha Greystone must be even worse…”

Just as Saranya was about to retort with a familiar quip, she suddenly felt a soft hand touch her.

It was Kaelan, taking advantage of the darkness around their feet, who had brazenly lifted Saranya’s skirt and began to toy with her thigh.

Saranya’s face flushed crimson.

Knowing she couldn’t defy her mistress’s will, she gently pulled her skirt back down, covering both her mistress’s hand and her own leg.

In the dim, cold light, the lower half of her body produced a rustling sound as her clothes rubbed together, her skirt trembling subtly.

Kaelan’s palm was damp, and she seemed quite nervous, likely worried about Paresha Greystone’s upcoming performance.

Her kneading motions were entirely haphazard, lacking any control over force or rhythm, almost like a child playing with clay.

‘So, is my mistress treating me like a stress-relief toy…?’

She forcefully suppressed the turmoil within her, refocusing her attention on the stage.

“An excellent display, Miss Aurelius,” Doron commended.

Doron clapped his hands, offering Dalia Aurelius a perfunctory compliment, then gestured for Aivy, who was next in line, to ascend the platform.

Aivy stepped onto the elevated platform.

Behind her, Paresha Greystone was drenched in sweat, hunched over like a thief.

Her eyes were fixated on the crescent moon above, one hand waving back and forth, her lips muttering something incoherently.

“Paresha Greystone, quiet! It’s not your turn yet!”

“Ah! Yes!”

Paresha Greystone snapped to attention, a faint whimper escaping her throat.

She felt as though she might burst into tears from sheer terror.

On the elevated platform, Aivy drew a long, round-tipped staff from her robes and tossed it high into the air, uttering a spell.

Saranya’s pupils contracted.

She recognized the words as a dialect of the Northern Elf tribe.

“Levitate.”

The staff remained suspended in the air, then swiftly began to rotate counter-clockwise.

Aivy’s long braid behind her head lifted without a breeze.

She extended her arms, her ten fingers pointing towards the moon-shaped emblem, which pulsed with holy light.

“Draw. Disperse.”

The crescent moon began to tremble, emitting a low hum.

Countless threads of light descended towards Aivy’s staff, but before they could even touch its shaft, they transformed into fine, snow-like silver dust.

This dust scattered in all directions, quickly blanketing the entire hall.

The overwhelming shower of silver dust, like snowflakes, danced and shimmered before people’s eyes.

Many couldn’t resist reaching out to catch it, their mouths naturally uttering continuous cheers.

Aivy licked the corner of her mouth, then, with a faint smile, uttered her final incantation.

“Converge.”

As if hearing a command, all the silver dust shot towards Aivy’s staff simultaneously.

Rising and falling like waves, it astonishingly formed a sacred human image: a woman standing on tiptoe, holding a half-moon aloft with both hands.

“It’s the Pale Moon Goddess!”

“A miracle…”

“May the Goddess bless us…”

Aivy retracted her staff and turned to bow to the audience.

Behind her, the image of the “Pale Moon Goddess” slowly descended like fireworks, vanishing into thin air midway.

“Good, very good indeed…”

Doron stammered, clearly impressed.

“It has been a long time since I witnessed such exquisite Divine Arts…”

From the audience seats, Saranya turned to Kaelan.

“Out of a hundred, what score would you give that?” she asked.

“Thirty,” Kaelan replied, “Her mana arrangement technique is far too crude—no, it’s more accurate to say she has no technique at all.”

“She squandered a massive amount of mana just to forcibly piece together that image.”

“If it were me, I could manifest that Goddess image using just one particle of her silver dust.”

“Then, with Paresha Greystone going up next, will she truly be alright?” Saranya worried.

Kaelan’s brow furrowed, and her hand involuntarily tightened, her fingernails pricking Saranya’s skin.

Saranya gasped in pain.

“I don’t know,” Kaelan murmured, “It will depend on her fate.”

On the platform, Doron cleared his throat and tapped his scepter against the floor.

“Next, Paresha Greystone!”

Paresha Greystone, empty-handed and with nothing to wield, awkwardly crouched down.

Her right leg was forward and to the left, her left leg back and to the right, in a half-kneeling, half-standing posture that was both highly undignified and peculiar.

Aiming at the crescent moon emblem above her head, she let out a guttural “Ha!” from her mouth, much like a charlatan qigong master attempting to project energy.

People began to murmur, clearly bewildered.

‘?’

Saranya scratched her head, turning to Kaelan for an explanation, only to find Kaelan had buried her face in her chest.

“Candidate! What are you doing?!” Doron exclaimed, nearly choking on his words.

“Get on the stage first!”

He had, after all, given Paresha Greystone an excuse to ascend the platform and try again.

“Oh, yes!”

Paresha Greystone, casting aside all concern for her dignity, stumbled onto the stage, ready for her last attempt.

With her hands clasped behind her back, she circled the crescent moon once, then twice, then a third time…

“Stop stalling!”

“Yes!”

Paresha Greystone once again adopted that abstract posture, aiming at the moon above her head, and emitted suspicious cries from her mouth.

“Heh!”

“Heh!”

“Enough!”

“Ha!”

“That’s enough!!”

Doron’s aged face turned crimson with suppressed frustration.

The audience began to emit low chuckles, until finally, someone noticed that even several of the judges present could no longer maintain their composure.

At that, the entire hall erupted in laughter.

Unwilling to give up, Paresha Greystone then pointed at the moon with her left hand.

“Heh-ha!”

Amidst the indifferent laughter of the crowd, the crescent moon suddenly exploded with a loud “bang” and extinguished.

Indeed, that incomparably noble Sacred Moon, a gift from the Goddess to her faithful, the magic artifact upon which generations of Divine Official candidates had relied for their spellcasting, had gone out.

In the sudden darkness, the crowd fell into a stunned silence.

“Huh?”

“This… does this count?”