Cracks ran through the city walls of the southern border, high towers teetered precariously, and the winding streets lay in shambles. The once vibrant buildings and plazas had been reduced to ruins amid the violent tremors, while stone pillars continually collapsed and sank into the rubble.
Covered in blade wounds, his black robe soaked in blood, a weakened Salomon finally reached the city pass, the flames of victory blazing fiercely in his eyes.
Yet all of that was completely turned upside down the moment he clearly saw Loren's figure.
The moonlight slipped into the shadows.
The shouts echoing through the crowd sounded like clinging, inescapable specters.
"It's... it's a lie..."
Salomon clutched his head, nearly clawing through his own scalp.
Across the entire city-state, all he could hear were continuous cheers for Loren.
Like relentless claps of thunder, these voices roared in Salomon's ears, threatening to scramble his wrinkled brain into sheer chaos.
It felt as though behind him still lurked that pack of Destruction Great Clerics who had been brainwashed beneath the blood moon into bizarre creatures.
Had he escaped? He didn't know.
There was no answer in this darkness.
Filled with dread, Salomon had fled through the eerie domain of South Vantina to reach the border gates, hoping to get a clear look at the cardinal battling Somerset. But when he arrived, he saw someone he could never have anticipated.
The divine radiance of the [Original Slate - Wind] enveloped him, along with mana that shook heaven and earth. Without a doubt, that too was Loren!
At this moment, Salomon felt only an inexorable destiny and a message that could never be delivered.
Salomon didn't dare recall the fellow who had spoken to him in the city's northwestern district. Every single shred of analysis by his brain sent chills down his spine.
Whatever had been in the northwest was undoubtedly terrifyingly powerful, exuding an aura no weaker than that of the Bishop of Destruction.
Perhaps Loren had acquired some ancient forbidden spell allowing him to split in two and direct his own grand play. On the surface, he was a kind, upright high priest, but in secret, he was the shadowy mastermind manipulating the balance of the entire continent. Kingdoms, empires, the Resurrection Church, and the Blood Clan—all of them were merely pawns in the high priest's hand!
Salomon looked up, and the genuinely bewildered look in Loren's eyes high in the air only terrified him further.
That man had blatantly toyed with him in the northwestern district just moments ago, yet upon meeting again, he effortlessly maintained a flawless performance as a heroic icon before the people of the Hutton Kingdom.
It was as if he had no fear of the truth or conspiracy ever coming to light, silently mocking Salomon as nothing more than a helpless pawn.
"Salomon..."
Beyond the border of South Vantina, Marquis Somerset grasped the situation instantly upon seeing Salomon's expression and condition.
"Tsk..."
The Eighth Progenitor Marquis Somerset clicked his tongue.
Regardless of whether the mission had succeeded or failed, the arrival of the Son of Destruction, Salomon, was the signal to retreat.
South Vantina's boundary barrier would soon be restored.
Facing an increasingly powerful Loren, saving this Son of Destruction—whose mana was completely depleted—would change nothing.
Moreover, for some reason, the Son of Destruction seemed to have suffered a nervous breakdown and completely lost the will to fight. Attempting a forced rescue might only result in Salomon betraying him, dragging Somerset down with him.
The Blood Clan didn't fear wars of attrition, but they dreaded being pinned down until daylight.
The best choice now was to abandon the Son of Destruction, use him as bait, and evacuate immediately!
Without hesitation, Marquis Somerset wheeled away from the border of South Vantina, streaking toward the Knox Mountains like a red comet.
"..."
Loren had no desire to prolong the fight; if the enemy was willing to withdraw, so much the better.
And so,
Loren could only look back at the Son of Destruction, Salomon.
His gaze looked entirely at a loss as to what was happening, seeking an answer from Salomon.
"... Loren!"
Realizing that the Eighth Progenitor Marquis Somerset had fled without a second thought, leaving him alone at the pass, fear and hatred intertwined into bloodshot veins across Salomon's eyes.
Why had Loren appeared in the northern continent?
Why was there a new cardinal?
Why had Loren's movements consistently mirrored those of the new bishop?
So that was it—all of it had merely been a stage set for the birth of a hero!
The affairs of the world could be controlled through the interplay of black and white.
Yet what if the player moving both the black and white pieces was the exact same person?
If there was no chaos in the world, Loren would create it himself.
And the one to quell the chaos was still Loren—except his actions were never a struggle, but an unrehearsed performance.
Loren's deeds were surely done for the people, devoted to the end, righteous and selfless.
In reality, he knew how every single step unfolded and precisely how it would be suppressed!
Only now did Salomon realize that he was merely a disposable pawn toyed with in Loren's grasp.
By the time he understood his fate, it was already too late.
Every single word Loren had spoken back in the northwest now shook Salomon to his very core: "If you dare challenge me, I guarantee you will die a miserable death in South Vantina today, and before you die, you will experience a terror far exceeding the greatest fear the Bishop of Destruction could ever inflict on you."
His fate had long been sealed.
The only thing awaiting him was an exit from the stage.
The more he struggled, the deeper he plummeted.
"Salomon, I won't kill you. Surrender peacefully."
Loren descended slowly through the air, looking down at Salomon with righteous majesty as he spoke.
Certain that the Tier 8 foe had departed, he had no intention of pursuing. Chasing him deep into the Knox Mountains would not only make capture difficult, but could also leave the rear unprotected.
Moreover, if he were to kill the Son of Destruction himself, it would only incur the wrath of the Bishop of Destruction.
The youth destined to defeat the Son of Destruction had yet to emerge.
The best outcome was for the Kingdom Army in the rear to lock the Son of Destruction away and hand him over to the United Council of Kingdoms.
"Loren..."
Salomon stared at Loren, tears of terror streaming down his face.
"Hahahahaha! You foolish mortals, the day you uncover the truth, you will finally understand what kind of person Loren truly is!"
Accompanying his shrill cry, the mana within him suddenly surged one last time.
Loren seemed to sense something and lunged toward Salomon.
However, before Loren could stop him, Salomon had already ended his own life.
Using his mana, he destroyed himself in the fastest manner possible, leaving only a spray of blood scattering through the air like a mist of stars before Loren's horrified gaze.
"...?"
Loren stared blankly at Salomon's shattered remains.
He had no idea what Salomon meant, nor why the Son of Destruction had died so inexplicably.
From the moment Salomon appeared until now, there were simply too many things he could not comprehend.
Before Loren could even react,
officers had already rushed up and draped a thick cloak over his shoulders.
"The temperature drops drastically between day and night, Mr. Loren—bundle up!"
"We won!"
"He drove off the Son of Destruction with just a single glare! As expected of Mr. Loren!"
"Mr. Loren, after today's battle, your renown is going to skyrocket again!"
The commanders and soldiers of the South Vantina city defense forces shouted excitedly around Loren.
Loren stood frozen in place, utterly dumbfounded.
He truly couldn't fathom why the Son of Destruction had sprinted all the way here just to throw his life away before him.
In the aftermath of the great victory, morale soared. Everyone was focused on lifting and tossing their savior and hero Loren into the air; scarcely anyone paid heed to Salomon's cryptic final words before his death.
...
The next day.
A port on the northernmost coast of the Southern Continent.
The city of Rosam was built atop stone pillars and reefs jutting out along the bay, boasting breathtaking and magnificent scenery.
From here, reaching the Hutton Kingdom on the east-central coast of the Southern Continent would still take roughly ten days of travel.
At the heart of the city lay a massive harbor, crowded with ships and docks, serving as a hub for merchants, sailors, and adventurers, where goods and cultures from all lands circulated.
The city's architecture was renowned for its maritime style. The buildings were typically painted in bright hues such as blue and white with wooden accents, featuring pointed and curved roofs that evoked the motion of ocean waves rolling across the cityscape.
The upper and lower tiers of the city were connected by a series of stairs and magical elevators.
The upper tier consisted mainly of residential quarters and municipal institutions, offering stunning views of the sea and city, while the lower tier was filled with various shops, taverns, and restaurants for residents and visitors to enjoy.
As gentle waves lapped against the wooden piers, a large passenger liner slowly docked in the harbor.
After a long while, among the many disembarking travelers, a woman exuding an aura as pure as ice and snow drew everyone's attention.
Her pale blue eyes faintly reflected the sunlight over the port, and her long, silvery-white hair drifted gently with the sea breeze like soft snowflakes.
Stepping lightly down the gangway, she set foot in this harbor city of the Southern Continent.
Around her was a scene of bustling commotion: sailors unloading cargo, vendors calling out their wares, and the sea breeze carrying a salty tang and distant calls, while the wooden planks of the pier creaked softly under her feet.
She walked over to a newsstand and, with her slender, pale fingers, selected a local newspaper printed with the Southern Continent's latest developments and distant curiosities.
After exchanging a few coins, she began reading as she walked, immersing herself in the news and stories of the Southern Continent.
She flipped briskly through the pages of the Southern Continent United Times,
until she paused on a certain page, as though finding exactly what she had anticipated.
The picture showed a crowd united in celebration, surrounding a brown-haired man wearing a thick coat, his eyes filled with natural gentleness and utter confusion.
The people's reverence for him required no words; it was written plainly in their eyes.
[... Following his defeat, the Son of Destruction chose to end his own life, bearing multiple fatal wounds prior to his death. His exact route of escape through South Vantina remains unclear, but his abnormal mental state at the end and his parting words—"The day you uncover the truth, you will finally understand what kind of person Loren truly is"—remain baffling. Some suspect that it was not suicide, but that Loren silenced him at close range. However, numerous experts interpret this as a desperate attempt by the Son of Destruction to tarnish Loren's reputation at the very end... Reporting for you, Southern Continent United Times.]
"Loren... there really is something wrong with you..."
The Ice Snow Witch gripped the newspaper tightly, her expression filled with hostility.
She would uncover the root of this turmoil, starting her investigation right in the royal capital of Ikerite!
Chapter 512