Deep in the Knox Mountains, known as the Guardian's Spine, between South Vantina and the Creti Empire to the south.
In the gloom, an ancient hall stood in silence.
This was a secluded hollow in the mountain's belly, surrounded on all sides by sheer stone cliffs, like a masterpiece sculpted jointly by nature and mortal craft. Even with a thorough search, one would be hard-pressed to discover that a dilapidated temple lay hidden beneath a dark, sealed barrier.
Within the temple, a few clusters of lamplight flickered ceaselessly, casting shifting shadows and projecting several pitch-black silhouettes.
At the center of the main hall, around a stone conference table intricately carved with ancient craftsmanship, several figures sat or stood, like the protagonists in a silent stage play.
Their attire was nothing out of the ordinary. Even if they stepped out of the temple, onlookers would merely mistake them for hunters, geologists, or explorers in the Knox Mountains, with some dressed as plainly as commoners. Yet at this moment, they all exuded an unusual aura—like a well-trained theatrical troupe shedding its performance and reverting to standby.
After an indeterminate time had passed.
"Lady Hyperion has returned."
A voice rang out.
Unlike the figures beside the conference table, the silhouette standing on the pulpit spoke to them while gazing quietly at the dim rose window.
In an instant, the silhouettes by the table turned in unison toward the pulpit—toward the black-robed cleric who had appeared there without anyone noticing.
"And she has gone to the home of a wealthy merchant in South Vantina. It works out well. The plan can now be moved forward; you won't need to go through the trouble of infiltrating the royal capital, Ikerite."
"Lord Salomon."
All the Great Clerics present bowed to him.
This was undoubtedly splendid news for them.
After waiting for so long, Lady Hyperion had finally shown herself. Their mission was to assist the Blood Clan in exterminating her.
The most difficult step had undoubtedly been infiltrating the royal capital of Ikerite right under the nose of High Priest Loren, then setting up an inescapable death trap.
Now that Lady Hyperion had left the capital of her own accord, everything had become far simpler.
"Do not let your guard down, or Phoenix's failure will be your end."
Salomon, the Son of Destruction, possessed pitch-black eyes that seemed capable of piercing through anything. Even his indistinct silhouette radiated a suffocating pressure. As his gaze slowly shifted toward the Great Clerics, anyone who had let even a trace of delight show on their face involuntarily shuddered.
Unlike the Saintess of Destruction, Adelice, who was a few years younger than him, Salomon had long reached the seventh tier, stepping into the realm of true transcendence. Even when facing an ordinary eighth-tier, he was not without the strength to put up a fight.
Between the sixth and seventh tiers lay a dividing line like that between mortals and gods, a gulf akin to that between ants and humans. For the vast majority of races, once crossed, one would possess truly unfathomable vitality and combat prowess.
"Yes, my lord."
The Great Clerics nodded in unison.
They naturally understood that the Son of Destruction's warning was not a mere admonition, but a vital reminder.
Previously, Phoenix, a direct retainer who had infiltrated the Aloran Royal Academy delegation visiting Ikerite Academy, had carried Spark of Destruction and Grand Puppet Theater to assassinate Lady Hyperion. Yet he had failed to make even a ripple in Ikerite, and had even defected to High Priest Loren, leaving everyone at a loss as to what had actually happened.
Perhaps Loren was even more mysterious than imagined, far from being such an upright, straightforward High Priest; or perhaps Hyperion had a mysterious powerhouse protecting her, capable of subduing Phoenix without making a sound.
To neutralize that assassination attempt with no prior warning or preparation, according to the Blood Clan's estimates, there was a high probability of an unknown eighth-tier figure by Hyperion's side.
This time, however, they were well prepared.
"Furthermore, a Cardinal from the Northern Continent recently seems to be making his way south. Although his exact location and purpose for heading south remain unknown, looking at his trajectory, there is a chance our paths may cross. In any case, do not recklessly provoke clerics from unknown branches."
Salomon, the Son of Destruction, seemed devoid of any emotional fluctuation. His calm voice carried invisible commands that impressed an irresistible power upon every Great Cleric present.
"If you have the chance to locate his true body, contact me immediately as well."
"Yes, Lord Salomon," the clerics answered reverently.
The movements of that suddenly arriving Cardinal were currently the primary focus of attention for several Bishops across the Southern Continent.
He seemed to be searching for something, his destination clear, streaking southward like a comet without a moment's pause.
Although that Cardinal from the Northern Continent was unlikely to be involved in the feud between the Blood Clan and Lady Hyperion,
the existence of a Cardinal was an unpredictable variable. It was best not to provoke him without cause and trigger unnecessary chain reactions.
In the dark chamber, the hearts of several Great Clerics raced. They, too, felt the crushing weight of the operation; if there were any slip-ups, there was no telling what this terrifying Son of Destruction might do.
During this period, they would gather near the Wilfort family's estate, while also finding a way to infiltrate it to keep track of intel regarding Lady Hyperion at all times.
"Do not concern yourselves with casualties. Secure any advantageous intel at all costs—even if it means living in the Wilfort family's courtyard."
In the Destruction branch, failure was forever far more terrifying than death.
Still, a newly arrived Cardinal who might crash into the mix with a minute probability wasn't necessarily a bad thing for him.
For instance, within the borders of the Hutton Kingdom, so long as intel on the Cardinal was slipped to High Priest Loren, Loren would naturally rush over to deal with that new Cardinal.
Compared to raw power, intellect was also a part of one's strength. By properly exploiting the unique environment and every opportunity to pit one tiger against another, it was not impossible to find a once-in-a-lifetime flaw in a Cardinal.
Salomon's gaze lingered on every Great Cleric present, seeming to see through their innermost thoughts, yet looking as if none of them had truly entered his sight. He was merely declaring that everything was ready, and the grand slaughter was about to unfold.
...
Hutton Kingdom, royal capital Ikerite.
Ten o'clock in the morning. The summer heat had already replaced the crispness of spring, yet the sunlight still retained a touch of lingering softness. Under this radiant glow, the ancient buildings of the School of Sages seemed imbued with new life; the silhouettes of the architecture grew sharper, while the potted plants upon the windowsills turned increasingly vibrant beneath the sun's rays.
On the fifth floor of the School of Sages' main building, Loren sat before his desk, staring at the secret letter in his hand, lost in deep thought.
The French window along one side of his office took up nearly the entire wall. Natural light poured inside, bathing the right half of his body in golden radiance that appeared exceptionally dazzling, while his left hand holding the secret letter was draped in shadow.
Loren tapped lightly against the desk. Upon the smooth, lustrous surface of brown solid wood lay an assortment of documents and books, as well as a magic-powered desk lamp sculpted in the likeness of an elf.
Loren looked at the secret intelligence report, his face devoid of expression.
Over a month ago, the shifting situation in the Northern Continent had triggered a series of ripple effects. It seemed the peace talks between the Kingdom of Asethelan and the Protos Empire had been quite successful, and for some reason, the Ice Snow Witch intended to visit the Church in the Southern Continent.
What was utterly absurd was that...
rumors were actually circulating that he, Loren, had personally gone to the Northern Continent!
What kind of nonsensical drivel was that?
Then again...
Having endured far too much gossip and slander recently, he had long since grown accustomed to it.
No matter what baseless nonsense people gossiped about in the days to come, or whatever happened, he believed he could accept it with absolute composure.
Chapter 497