It's You!

Inside the array hall. Still bound by several pythons, Tafman's skin was rapidly slackening, and multiple liver spots had surfaced across his body. Clearly, his vitality had been nearly drained dry. Even so, Karen still believed that this former commander wouldn't resign himself to being drained alive like this. Even Neo had praised him as a formidable opponent, so since he had signaled Karen earlier, he was bound to make a move. From the hunched young man's ability to forcibly lock onto coordinates and emerge from a damaged teleportation array, swiftly and cleanly overpower Tafman, and manifest all manner of bizarre, mysterious phenomena across his body, his immense strength was undeniable. In fact, looking at the hunched young man, Karen felt as though he were looking at his past self—burdened with an absurd assortment of "trinkets," as if running a general store. Under normal circumstances, such an opponent was not someone Karen would choose to fight. Although Karen's formal realm was still only that of an Inquisitor, his actual strength had long surpassed it. The Church of Order used identical titles for bureaucratic ranks and cultivation realms, which could easily cause confusion. Take a Jurist like Mr. Aisen, for instance. He held both the realm and office of Jurist, yet his abilities lay primarily in arrays. In sheer combat, he had been forced onto the defensive against Philomena back then, and both he and his wife had needed Karen to save them. In terms of raw combat power, comparing himself to Qihe—a Jurist who had come up through the Whip of Order and forged the Lax Copper Coin Luoya—Karen felt his current self could probably stand toe-to-toe with him. In other words, Karen assessed his own combat prowess as equivalent to that of a Jurist truly skilled in direct battle. Of course, this remained a broad comparison. One couldn't break down every person's individual strengths and traits into numerical values, tally up an overall score, and neatly rank their combat power. If an absolutely impartial third-party institution truly existed to do that, world peace would be achieved. Priests traveling abroad could simply flash their stat numbers, and whoever scored lower could just surrender on the spot. The trouble was that unless one possessed such overwhelming strength that they could crush the opposition without contest, anyone within a broad tier could take a swing and clash. The odds might tilt one way or the other, but victory and defeat were binary: one or zero. Moreover, by habit, every time Karen gained a boost in strength, he liked to spar and calibrate with Neo, determining a combat approach that maximized his effectiveness given his current state. Then, once everything had been fine-tuned, he still preferred to pick opponents who clearly had no chance against him. Caution was truly etched into his bones. Phrased another way: he strove diligently and advanced step by steady step so that whenever the need arose, he could secure an unshakeable victory. He liked being in control of that orderly rhythm. Thus, while Karen and Neo shared similar aesthetic tastes, their temperaments were entirely different. Men like Neo thrived on the thrill between life and death. He loved dancing on a razor's edge against foes who were stronger—or at least appeared stronger—than himself. Winning such a brutal struggle brought him an immense sense of accomplishment. Someone like Karen, on the other hand, would never suddenly suffer a catastrophic defeat and end up standing alone on a desolate rooftop contemplating the void. Right now, however, the hunched young man's strength clearly exceeded the threshold where one could casually "take a swing" or "test the waters." Tafman was an unmistakable yardstick. Indeed, Karen had a penchant for using people as units of combat measurement—first Alfred, later Philomena. It wasn't a joke; it was a practical necessity. If he were here alone, Karen could have leaned on his guise as a "Light believer," blended into the crowd, and waited for an opening. To put it coldly, if Tafman died, he died. He would avenge Tafman, just not right now. Now, however, he had a team behind him. Once the situation settled down—or once the destruction ended and things were forcibly stabilized—such a group would be virtually impossible to hide. Especially since they were all inside the array hall, right under the hunched young man's nose. That left only one option: fight for their lives! He could only hope Tafman would deliver a pleasant surprise. Karen gently patted Purr's rump, and Purr understood immediately. Leaping lightly from his embrace, the cat quickly climbed onto Ashley's shoulder. Purr knew better than to hinder a melee combatant; staying in the rear allowed her to protect the priest and summoner—and provide fireball firepower if necessary. Kevin didn't fall back like Purr. Instead, the dog tugged lightly on his leash twice. Though puzzled, Alfred let go of the reins. Kevin took a few steps forward, halting half a step behind and to the side of Karen, tongue lolling in a goofy, honest smile. The dog had a hunch: if everyone made it out alive this time, it would be downright unreasonable of Karen not to unseal another layer for him. Moreover, in this position, he could watch the battle ahead while keeping Karen's back in view, which gave him an immense sense of security. Particularly with Blaizt's appearance, long-buried memories resurfaced—just like back in the ancient days when he had stood behind the God of Order, watching Him step alone into the God-Burial Grounds. Even if only for good luck and an auspicious omen, Kevin felt this was precisely where he belonged. Karen lowered his center of gravity slightly. The Sword of Arius on his back began to vibrate softly—not just preparing himself, but serving as a signal to the subordinates behind him. First: We're making our move! Second: Hit him with everything we've got! Everyone took the hint. Muri closed his eyes in silence, adjusting his breathing. His muscles relaxed rapidly while the soul power within coalesced. In his mindscape, the short sword and shield grew extraordinarily heavy. Faint ripples formed under Bart's skin as bone spikes fermented beneath, poised to shoot out like bamboo shoots in spring. Ventura took continuous deep breaths, his muscles already granulating in patches, ready at any second to transform into a petrified giant. Ashley pressed her fingers against the mark of the Storm Wolf, Mombas, on her shoulder, intending to summon the strongest monster beast at her disposal right from the start. Blanche gripped a glass sphere in each hand. The spheres were icy cold—gifts from her teacher. Memphis reached out and clasped Mars's hand. Mars felt a flicker of confusion, but didn't resist; he trusted Memphis's mastery over arrays and willingly cooperated. Alfred gently rubbed his eyes. Philomena made no outward move. Yet everyone understood that against such a powerful enemy, duties had to be clearly divided. The rest were there to screen, distract, and provide cover; the ones responsible for landing the killing blow were their captain and Philomena. This girl, once the most aloof and isolated, had earned her place in the squad through raw capability. *** The grimacing face of Blaizt spoke: "Once it utterly destroys this island, the ferocious malice will take complete control of its mind. Then we can take it away and hide. You should make your preparations now." "What about those two factions...?" "The Abyss and that pirate family? Heh, after I stepped in, they became nothing more than a joke." The hunched young man nodded to show he understood. Just then, Blaizt spoke up again: "Do you know why you're experiencing rejection and discomfort?" The hunched young man shook his head. He knew, but didn't wish to say. Blaizt chuckled. "You must firmly believe that what you are doing is right." "I do." "Good. Hurry and get ready. Didn't a traitor turn up? The navigational charts we planned will have to be redrawn. My emergence is bound to draw the attention of the orthodox churches. The gods haven't returned yet; there's no way the orthodox churches will permit entities from the God-Burial Grounds to return first. Heheh." "Understood." The hunched young man stepped back into the hall. Addressing both Karen's group and the Light believers, he demanded, "I need a detailed nautical chart of the surrounding waters. If you have one, hand it over now. If not, chart one for me immediately." The Light believers exchanged bewildered glances. None replied. They hadn't believed Tafman when he claimed that the elder scheduled to arrive was a traitor, but now, the elder's behavior left them thoroughly thrown into disarray. One could only say that in this era, those who still clung to faith in the Light generally possessed high moral integrity; by comparison, the proportion of cowards and sycophants among them was relatively low. However, that didn't mean there were none—because one stepped forward right away. "Reporting to the elder, I have a nautical chart here, personally surveyed by myself." It was Karen who raised his hand and stepped forward. "Bring it here." The hunched young man held out an open palm. "Yes, my lord." Karen continued walking forward. At that very moment, flames ignited in Tafman's eyes. Even though his vitality was nearly drained dry, he flared the power of Light within him. This was not to cause destruction, but rather an unreserved, selfless channeling directly into the pythons binding him. The serpents naturally shuttled this rich, concentrated power of Light straight into the hunched young man's body. Injected with such a surge of Light power all at once, the hunched young man didn't look pleased in the slightest. Instead, his facial muscles twitched violently, and his limbs stiffened. He glared furiously at Tafman. He had guarded against any violent eruption from the man, but never anticipated that Tafman would choose such a method to retaliate. Parting his cracked lips, Tafman grinned. *You want to absorb my life force, do you...? Fine, then I'll dump all the Light power in my body onto you as well!* *What kind of Light believer are you, that absorbing the power of Light actually triggers rejection? Heh!* An opening! "Elder, what's wrong?" With a look of deep concern, Karen hurried forward. The hunched young man instinctively looked toward Karen, an ominous premonition telling him that something was amiss. Yet with intent preceding action, Karen had already drawn the Sword of Arius from his back as he sprinted forward, seizing what barely qualified as a surprise attack. The power of the Dark Moon circulated through his body. Karen pushed his speed to its utmost limit, thrusting the greatsword with all his might toward the hunched young man's chest. *Buzz!* A green flower suddenly bloomed across the hunched young man's chest. It swallowed the tip of Karen's sword whole, and a wave of virulent, toxic pollution surged along the blade toward Karen. Karen did not abandon his sword. Driving forward with even greater force, he let the green corruption spread up his hands and arms. *Pfft!* The blade pierced the young man's chest. Letting out a shrill shriek, the flesh across his back split open, and a grayish bone appendage resembling a mantis scythe whipped up, stabbing down toward Karen from above. It was blisteringly fast and ferociously powerful, warping the surrounding space in a blur. Karen knew that the Sea God's Armor could never withstand such a blow, nor was the physique granted by the God's Bone sufficient to take that level of rending damage head-on. Right then, Muri's figure materialized above and to Karen's flank. Raising his buckler, he intercepted the scythe. The round shield shattered on impact, but Muri still wedged his short sword against the pincer. As they crashed down, the tip of the pincer impaled Muri's shoulder, yet he succeeded in deflecting the lethal strike away from Karen. At the same time, Muri twisted his short sword, pivoting on his own body to lock the bone appendage inside his flesh, effectively pinning the hunched young man in place. As vice-captain, he had to take the brunt of the damage and make the greatest sacrifices in critical moments. "Heh, courting death!" A green veil of light spread beneath the hunched young man's feet. The floor seemed to dissolve into churning green froth, unleashing thorny vines wrapped in chilling, corrosive pollution that whipped toward Karen. *Boom!* A giant-sized Ventura leaped across, spreading his arms wide without hesitation. He turned his colossal frame into an unyielding roadblock that the vines could not bypass, letting himself be engulfed by the thorns. Bart appeared ahead and to Karen's side. White bone spikes erupted from every inch of his body. Transforming himself into a spinning hedgehog, he drew the remaining vines entirely onto himself. This was a fighting style that disregarded personal corruption just to clear a path for their captain. For they all knew the enemy was monstrously strong, demanding everything they had from the very outset. Severe corrosion ate into Ventura's body, pitting his stone flesh with hollows, while Bart's bone spikes melted even as they were corrupted. Neither let go. Blanche crushed the two glass spheres in her hands. The shards burst, piercing into her palms. At the cost of self-harm, she gained the ability to cast spells instantaneously. Blessing after blessing descended upon her teammates at the front, blunting the spread of pollution. The hunched young man crossed his arms, interlacing his ten fingers. A scorching fireball flared into being, instantly bathing their surroundings in blood-red radiance, as though plunging everyone into an underground sea of magma. *Awooo!* A wolf's howl tore through the air. Purr placed a paw on Ashley's arm, channeling soul power to help her instantly summon the Storm Wolf, Mombas. The moment Mombas appeared, he grasped the gravity of the situation. After their previous encounter at the research institute, even if the wolf still harbored lingering pride, an understanding had been reached—it looked down on Ashley's low summoner rank, not the company she kept. So Mombas truly put his life on the line this time. Clothed in tempestuous storm power, he lunged straight into the terrifying fireball. In an instant, fire showered in all directions as waves of blistering heat erupted outward—and Mombas's phantom dissolved into nothingness, paying an unintentional tribute to Sandy. At that moment, Philomena appeared behind the hunched young man. Raising her dagger, she drove it straight into the back of his neck. *Squelch!* The dagger sank in and sliced across in a diagonal cleave. The young man's head was severed, yet the seam between head and neck stretched like pulled cheese, connected by thick, gooey strings. The severed head spun in midair, teeth clattering at blinding speed as it launched a terrifying spiritual assault against Philomena. Philomena simply closed her eyes... and went to sleep. Everything she did from that point on was sleepwalking. The dagger in Philomena's hand flew straight toward the head with deadly precision. *Thunk!* The hunched young man's head was pinned to the wall, bursting like an abscess into thick, foul pus. From within the headless corpse erupted multiple mental roars of distinctly different timbres. Under these dire circumstances, the various entities dwelling inside the hunched young man felt collectively outraged. The skin along the headless body's back tore wide open. Inside lay not flesh and blood, but a slab of glacial ice carved with the figure of a woman. Now, as if coming alive, the icy woman reached out a hand and tapped toward Philomena. Philomena felt as if she had slammed into an iceberg. Frostbite and fissures spread across her skin, and her body took a heavy beating. Yet she smoothly drew another dagger, and before flying backward, she hurled the blade—imbued with the spell Blade of Judgment—straight at the back. *Crack!* *Crash!* The ice sloughed off in chunks, and the carved woman took on an expression of agony and fury. In front, the young man's abdomen bulged, stretching out into the visage of a man chanting an obscure, archaic incantation. Distinct spatial ripples radiated outwards. Facing Karen's relentless advance with the greatsword, the entity intended to teleport the headless corpse over a short distance—at least out of the array hall. Just then, Memphis, who had slashed open his own palm and let copious amounts of blood drip onto the floor, shouted: "Triple Defensive Array!" Mars caught on instantly, using Memphis's blood to lay down the array formations. Before setting foot on Altar Island, Memphis couldn't have pulled this off, but on the island, in his desperate bid to save Karen, he had achieved a breakthrough. It was a method of array-casting that devoured life force and might even mortgage his future potential, but to help Karen, he didn't care. To Memphis now, if his son Richard and Karen fell into the water at the same time, he would step on Richard's body to haul Karen out. The Triple Defensive Array sprang into being, not to shield their own side, but cast directly over the hunched young man, smothering the short-range spatial shift. With a low roar, Karen drove the Sword of Arius deeper. As more than half the blade plunged into the hunched young man's chest, just as Karen was about to ignite the deepest embers of both Order and Light flames within him— Above, the grimacing face Blaizt, who had been controlling Giragon, let out a cold snort and finally cast his gaze downward. "I've been waiting for you!" Alfred sprang before Karen, looking straight up as his Succubus Eye activated. Though he knew full well his current Succubus Eye stood virtually no chance against a Primordial-tier Beguiling Aberrant Demon, he could still buy his young master precious time! Yet at that exact instant, a golden-yellow figure leaped into the air, tracing an elegant arc across the sky. He cut in front of Alfred, taking the Beguiling Aberrant Demon's gaze in Alfred's stead! "Woof!!!" In that split second, the dog's eyes locked onto the grimace above. Blaizt's arrogant, sinister sneer instantly froze. A chest of memories—long forgotten, faded through countless generations—flung wide open. "It's you!" *** The God of Order had departed. Into the Divine Cemetery, reduced to a desolate wasteland of death, stepped another deity. He wore an ancient fish-skin robe that left one arm bare. With a sinister gaze and a mocking curl on his lips, his bald crown reflected the gleam of spirit fire. He first admired the aftermath of the battle here, clucking his tongue repeatedly in appreciation. Then, his eyes fell upon Blaizt, who was lying on the ground shattered until only half a skull remained. Then he spread his legs, untied the cord at his waist, *Splish-splash... pitter-patter... drip-drip-drop...* Mainly a horizontal back-and-forth sweep, with a subtle vertical oscillation: *splat, splat*. "Ah~ Coordinate marked."