The fairy maid cheers for her deceased master today.

"Then what about the Templars?" Ex thought of the black-robed knight again.

"The Knights Templar should be the external agents of the Royal Order of the Holy Way."

Got it, that means I'm in charge of doing the work.

"They are also divided into red robes, white robes, black robes, and no robes, according to rank."

Although X deliberately changed the subject.

But Angel's mind was still on tomorrow's review and on the black-robed butler.

She found a newspaper and handed it to me, her silver hair falling down to cover half her face: "Deacon Samuel... he published an article in The Times last month saying that 'the transgression against God is unforgivable.'"

Ax turned to the other party's article—"On the Heretical Nature of Fairies and Their Influence on Contractual Masters," by Samuel Hemlock, a deacon of the London diocese.

If the review fails tomorrow, whether it's me or the fairy who fails...

The consequences will likely be dire.

That Deacon Samuel was probably eagerly anticipating his fourth execution by burning at the stake. It was a symbol of honor.

Angel had also thought of this.

She suddenly threw herself into Ex's arms, nuzzling her head against his chin: "Master, let's run away! To France! I heard the Holy See there is less strict!"

Look at what you're saying. I'm a local Brit. No matter how I try to escape, I'm not going to France.

At least for now, the original owner's memories suddenly surfaced, and one French joke after another followed.

For example, regarding Joan of Arc, the British directly promoted her as the "Witch of Orleans" and a "whore who used magic to bewitch soldiers."

Oxford University experts even published a paper titled "On the Unnaturalness of Women Leading War," claiming that "French men's cowardice has reached the point where they need women's protection."

Even more widely circulated was the folk song "The Victory of the Village Girl," which sang: "France has no men left, so only village girls can carry guns."

Others include—

"The French are more skilled at fighting with baguettes than with rifles."

"No one can occupy Paris before the French surrender."

"The more powerful France is, the funnier its jokes become."

In short, for an Englishman like me, whose local newspaper even has a "French jokes" column, going to France is out of the question. At least, my very instincts are averse to it.

Why do I remember these things so clearly, but can't recall the others?

Ax shook his head helplessly, then stroked Angel's soft silver hair, and recalled the expert's foolish talk about "morphological transformation" in the Persian Pavilion during the day.

He chuckled. "Why run? We have 'complete resurrection' now, and plenty of 'living-death energy'."

He gently pinched Angel's pointed ears, making her face flush pink: "Tomorrow, I'll see if this Deacon Samuel can recognize a breathing corpse."

"Um……"

"Any more questions?"

"Master seems to have changed a lot. Since he died, he seems to have become... even better. Before, Master couldn't be bothered to pay any attention to Angel."

Why ignore such a beautiful girl?

Original owner, are you even human?

X smiled and said, "After all, you're dead, so you can see things more clearly now."

"Mmm, I just hope Master stays dead forever."

"..."

Suddenly, I realized it was quite normal that the original owner ignored this idiot.

My fist suddenly hardened!

■

Now, things are clear about the church.

But X still doesn't know anything about the fairies.

After all, in the world before the transmigration, there were no such humanoid creatures in reality.

So what exactly is a fairy?

So, in order to help her master recall all his memories as soon as possible, Angel busied herself again, rummaging through the attic to find a wooden box containing yellowed pages of ancient books.

Ax's gaze fell on the parchment—"The Epic of the Gods."

"This is……"

"These are handwritten copies of ancient manuscripts, which possess a certain degree of authenticity. You used to love reading them, Master."

What does it mean to have a certain degree of authenticity? So is most of it still just speculation?

Thinking this through, Ex flipped to the previous pages.

Even if it's fake, it should still reflect some of the true history.

……

"In the Second Age, the war of the gods began."

"They are the embodiment of the laws, the embodiment of power, yet they also possess childlike greed—all wanting to become one of the four true gods, wielding the thread of fate that can weave the order of all things."

"And so the battle began. The God of Fire forged giants from lava, each step cracking the earth; the Mother of the Sea unleashed towering waves, drowning the nascent forests; and the Lord of the Night tore through space, releasing shadow beasts that devoured starlight. The world was reduced to scorched earth in their struggle, and the sky was stained crimson with blood."

"The alien species are the deformed product of this chaos. Different gods, in their pursuit of victory, indiscriminately poured their divine power upon creation."

"The swamp god detested order, so he chanted a spell over the mud, causing the mud to grow sticky tentacles. Each tentacle had a breathing eye at its end. Wherever they crawled, the rocks would soften into black mud. This is the origin of the swamp monsters."

"The God of Craftsmen was obsessed with eternity and forged an army from star iron, but forgot to infuse them with souls. These metal creations began to rust indiscriminately, even turning the armor of the gods to dust within three days. The rust monsters then ran rampant."

"When the God of Wind was defeated, he tore his own soul apart. The dissipated divine power turned into white mist. Creatures in the mist lose their form and become pure screams. The Void Mist aliens then spread to every corner of the world along with the mist."

"The gods finally realized that they had not created weapons, but a nightmare that devoured everything. But no one was willing to stop—faced with the temptation of becoming a true god, the survival of the world was nothing more than dust that could be easily brushed away."

"While the gods were busy turning the world into a battlefield, a group of tiny creatures survived in the rifts. They had neither the blood of the gods nor the powers of other races; they were creations of nature. That is, humankind."

"They would bury their fallen companions, sing to the moon, and draw hunting scenes on the rock walls—actions that seemed meaningless to the gods, yet they made a certain god—Xi—stop in his tracks."

"She liked to sit on the clouds and watch humans: watching them build shelters from the wind and rain with branches, watching them carry their injured companions back to their burrows, watching children feed rabbits with grass leaves."

"They are so fragile, yet so resilient," Xi said softly, a faint light shimmering at her fingertips. She decided to give humanity a gift—not the power of destruction, but companions of protection.

"She took a strand of her silver hair and rubbed it into the morning dew; she plucked the first cloud from the sky and cut it into light wings; and she stole a bit of the god of war's courage and stuffed it into the girl's heart."

"As the first rays of sunlight shone on the grassland, a group of girls with pointed ears and waist-length hair emerged from the light. When they landed, glowing flowers sprouted at their feet; when they spoke, the wind carried the sweet scent of honey."

“You are called fairies.” Xi stroked the cheek of the first fairy to awaken, her eyes like melting stars. “Go find those bipedal creatures, protect them, like protecting seeds just sprouting in spring.”

"And so, the fairy was born."

"And so, humanity continued."