Inside the spacious and luxurious executive suite on the top floor of Purgatory Corridors Academy, no matter how the wind and snow tossed outside the window, the interior was always bathed in soft lamplight.
Now and then, the indicator light of the magic communication device on the desk would flicker.
Lanqi shifted his gaze toward the glow.
Compared to the previous two simulations, this run started six or seven hours later; the initial time was already nightfall.
As the headmaster, he seemed to have spent the entire day dreaming away in his office, ignoring even the missed communications.
Based on Lanqi's familiarity with the headmaster's routine, his secretary had likely sought him out during the day, received no response, and, assuming there was nothing urgent, refrained from disturbing him further, leaving the messages queued up.
"I wonder if the others will worry about us, disappearing for an entire day at Purgatory Corridors Academy."
Talia missed Hyperion and Xigelei already.
"I told Lisandra my schedule in advance. She should let them know."
Lanqi lightly tapped the communication device, scrolling through the queued messages.
He didn't dwell on affairs outside the Mirror of Tyberius, keeping his focus on what lay directly ahead.
For now, it seemed that if he made no choice, every minute he lingered in the headmaster's office meant a minute of time trickled away.
Yet at this stage, the actions he could take inside the office were extremely limited.
He could barely reach the outside world, nor could he unleash Lankeluosi's high-tier spells.
It felt very much like a town's safe mode.
If he wanted to wield Lankeluosi's power for rapid travel or fight using Lankeluosi's Tier 9 body to its fullest, he had to select the "Intervene Personally" option.
Just as this thought crossed Lanqi's mind, the information from the Mirror of Tyberius froze, followed by the appearance of the first branch.
[Your next choice will be:]
[A. Immortal Eternal Punishment]
[B. Go to the Demon King City]
[C. Return to the Theocracy]
[D. Intervene Personally]
[Remaining Lifespan: 5 days, 04 hours, 30 minutes]
Standing before the desk, Lanqi switched off the communication device and studied the options.
This simulation operated under the premise that Lankeluosi possessed the experiences of the prior two simulations, and his intelligence had shifted accordingly.
Even so, the initial choices differed little from the second simulation.
Compared to the first simulation, the only change was that the original first option, "Remain Here," had been eliminated.
Having learned of the unrest in the southern Horning Empire, Lankeluosi could no longer sit idly by.
"No need to overthink it."
Lanqi hardly hesitated over the mirror's choices; he was far too familiar with them.
The moment he finished reading, his hand tapped the option for Immortal Eternal Punishment on the glowing screen.
"You really don't have a shred of post-traumatic stress, do you?"
Talia marveled within his mind.
Knowing the price of Immortal Eternal Punishment, she dreaded the spell immensely.
Had Tamisha not pulled the plug for them on the outside, the true penalty of that spell might well have been "eternity."
Last time, she had been genuinely terrified.
There was no end in sight.
Even now, she still carried the lingering feeling of having barely survived a disaster.
Yet when she remembered that the historical Lankeluosi had to cast Immortal Eternal Punishment for real outside the Mirror of Tyberius, Talia's heart ached for him.
In reality, no one could have saved him.
Facing the endgame of the Blood Moon Ruined World was when Lankeluosi truly had to steel his resolve.
While Talia reflected, the Immortal Eternal Punishment Lanqi had chosen took effect.
In an instant, an overwhelming black mist of mana surged into the office.
The stable ward on the walls began to fluctuate, pulled by mysterious rules, and the lights dimmed considerably.
A tremendous reservoir of mana gathered in the air before the desk. A supreme power of the Demon Realm radiated vibrations identical to the Black Sun.
The black mist gathered and wove together, causing the air to shudder until it enveloped Lanqi. It coalesced into a black serpent around him, and finally, the coiling mist condensed and rushed straight into his face.
When the incantation etched by the black mist settled onto Lanqi's left cheek, the surrounding mana fluctuations gradually subsided, the light faded, and everything returned to normal.
[Even knowing full well what consequences Immortal Eternal Punishment would bring,]
[You still chose it without hesitation, regardless of the eternal torment you would suffer.]
[You knew that only in this way could you maintain your peak condition—]
[To complete your final mission.]
"Now the two of us will have to drift in that void for an unknown amount of time again," Talia sighed.
Although Tamisha would cut off the power supply from the outside around the two-hour mark as Lanqi instructed, there was no telling how much variance there might be.
A discrepancy of just a few minutes outside could translate to days or even months for them, given the accelerated passage of time within the Mirror of Tyberius.
"I'm sorry for dragging you through this suffering with me."
Lanqi briefly lifted his mask. Looking at his reflection, which now appeared even more like a demon, he spoke with a touch of guilt.
He had promised to let Talia enjoy an easy life.
Yet here he was, dragging her along to suffer once more.
"What are you talking about? Since being with you, every day has been wonderful. What's wrong with sharing a little hardship?"
Talia spoke with fierce loyalty.
"As long as I'm here, you will never be alone."
Having experienced the void that followed Immortal Eternal Punishment, there was no way she would let Lanqi enter the Mirror of Tyberius by himself. Being trapped in that endless expanse as a pair felt completely different from being stranded alone; at least it wouldn't be as lonely.
"Thank you, Master. I realize now that my past assessment of you was wrong."
Lanqi placed the mask back over his face, concealing the centipede-like rune branded onto his cheek. He could feel the unwithering forbidden power within him.
With this, he would no longer see alerts warning him of his own decline.
"What assessment?" Talia asked curiously.
"You should actually be a popular type of woman," Lanqi replied earnestly.
"..."
For a moment, Talia couldn't tell whether Lanqi was complimenting her or insulting her.
*That way of speaking is just so Lanqi,* she thought.
The demonic script of the Mirror of Tyberius continued to materialize:
[Where will you go next:]
[A. Necalis]
[B. St. Trick]
[C. Heshalem]
[D. Intervene Personally]
[Remaining Lifespan: 5 days, 04 hours, 29 minutes]
A fresh set of options presented itself.
"Wait, does this Lord of the Inverted, Tiberius, have obsessive-compulsive disorder? Did he shorten Hersalem into Heshalem just to keep the character count tidy?"
Talia stared at the third option for a beat before realizing it referred to Hersalem, the capital of the Holy Polant Theocracy.
"If you say Hersalem fast enough, it really does sound like Heshalem. Nothing wrong with it," Lanqi agreed readily.
In different languages, there were many ways to transliterate Hersalem, so calling it that wasn't incorrect.
As for Necalis and St. Trick, they were the capitals of the Demon Realm and the Horning Empire, respectively.
Neither needed to be considered for the moment.
"So this time, are you heading back to the capital of the Holy Polant Theocracy first?"
Talia understood what Lanqi would pick, but seeing that he hadn't locked in the choice yet, she asked him.
"Before setting off, I have one more thing to do."
Lanqi pressed the button on the communication device.
Although he couldn't unleash Lankeluosi's true might without making a choice, and his range of motion was confined while time ticked away, using the existing items inside the headmaster's office had no adverse effect.
Minor actions of this sort were entirely possible within the illusion. He had verified this across the previous two simulations; during the waiting periods between choice fragments, he could exercise his own will to lightly interact with the setting.
In truth, burning his personal intervention now was an option.
However, he wanted to save the chance to fight in person for the siege on Blood Moon City.
He needed to thoroughly memorize the layout of Blood Moon City.
"What could you possibly do right now?" Talia asked, perplexed.
She couldn't see what room Lanqi had to maneuver inside this office.
Of course, she understood why experiencing Blood Moon City was necessary for him.
First, tens of thousands of years separated the era of the Blood Moon Ruined World from the present day.
They had confirmed this dozens of times since their very first encounter with the Blood Moon Ruined World, yet some people still failed to grasp it and argued endlessly about the timeline on the Ikerite student forums.
Furthermore, every nation from the era of the Blood Moon Ruined World—including the Demon Realm—had long since weathered the vicissitudes of time and transformed into something unrecognizable compared to the present day.
Only the ruins of Blood Moon City, sealed beneath the southern continent, remained largely unchanged across tens of thousands of years.
The upper limit of Lankeluosi's Immortal Eternal Punishment seal on the Blood Clan was roughly tens of thousands of years, which was why the Blood Clan Progenitors would begin unsealing one after another by the present era.
Anyone in the era of the Blood Moon Ruined World who resembled someone in the present might seem like a similar flower to Lanqi, but to Talia, they were reincarnations.
From what she understood of Lanqi, after stumbling into the Church of the Goddess of Fate while hungover, he had gained a set of "memories from another world" where he was a lead artist, granting him insight into certain events on the present world's future timeline.
Setting aside whether Lankeluosi had transmigrated to another world for a lifetime before reincarnating as Lanqi, what Lanqi saw and heard about this world as a lead artist in that lifetime had undoubtedly been fabricated and arranged by the Goddess of Fate.
In other words, the "skills of a lead artist" were simply the accumulation of Lankeluosi's experiences combined with Lanqi's own artistic talent—things that inherently belonged to him.
As for the "lead artist's knowledge of the world," it was nothing more than divination results the Goddess of Fate had conveyed to him in a manner he could more readily accept.
This even included the map of Blood Moon City.
The layout of Blood Moon City and the intelligence on the Progenitors were clearly Lankeluosi's knowledge. Having lived through three simulations and one real battle, Lankeluosi inevitably understood Blood Moon City inside and out, making it completely natural for him to comprehend its layout like an art director. Likewise, the appearances of the Progenitors familiar to Lanqi were precisely the ones Lankeluosi had once fought.
The Goddess of Fate had merely returned Lankeluosi's knowledge to Lanqi without disrupting his sense of self.
Talia believed she had sorted through the logic clearly.
Put this way, even a three-year-old could understand it.
"Naturally, I need to make some preparations before departing," Lanqi answered Talia as he picked up the receiver and waited for the connection.
Soon, accompanied by a soft buzz, a clear and crisp demoness's voice sounded from the other end.
"Mr. Headmaster, were you looking for me?"
The secretary spoke in the demonic tongue.
"I'm looking for Xigelei. Is she around?" Lanqi replied into the receiver.
The secretary's voice still belonged to Lisandra.
Yet compared to the Shadow World, the Lisandra of this timeline was noticeably less relaxed around him.
Thinking carefully, if the witch hadn't survived until the third Shadow World during the Dark Eclipse of the Demon Realm, Lankeluosi would never have met Lisandra in the demon capital of Necalis and become friends with her. Even if Lisandra was later destined to serve as the secretary at Purgatory Corridors Academy, their relationship resembled that of superior and subordinate.
No matter how approachable Lankeluosi might be, to Lisandra, he remained an unapproachable great demon.
"Yes, I'll summon her for you. Please wait a moment," Lisandra answered respectfully.
"Thank you."
Lanqi didn't converse further and returned the receiver to its cradle.
He sat back in the executive chair to wait, gazing up at the ceiling of the office.
"What are you thinking about?" Talia chimed in, seeing him idle.
At times, she couldn't fathom what went through Lanqi's mind; he seemed to be thinking of nothing at all, yet carried an air of profound reflection.
"I'm worried Xigelei might be distant toward me as well."
Lanqi wasn't certain what the true historical relationship between Lankeluosi and Xigelei had been.
Judging by the Demon King's Palace fragment recorded in Caliera's Shadow-Weaving Record, during his most despondent period, Lankeluosi hadn't treated Xigelei particularly well at first, merely letting her follow him like a burdensome tagalong.
Xigelei, on the other hand, had clung to Lankeluosi as her beacon of survival, seeking his protection and hoping to learn the power to take vengeance upon the Blood Clan from him.
It was only when Lankeluosi was caught in the Fallen Land of Gentle Slumber within the palace, witnessing the illusion of the witch, that he untied his inner knots and came to view Xigelei as his reason to live and someone he had to protect.
*Knock, knock.*
A rapping sound interrupted Lanqi's thoughts.
"Come in," Lanqi said, looking toward the door.
"I'm here."
A light-haired nun pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Her amethyst eyes met the green pupils behind the Pope's mask.
A look of surprise and delight flitted across the nun's face, though she couldn't guess why the Pope had suddenly summoned her.
"Xigelei, come here," Lanqi told her, gesturing for her to close the door and approach the desk, indicating he had an important matter to discuss.
In Lankeluosi's timeline, Xigelei still dressed as a nun. Her smooth, long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she wore a tailored, pure-white habit edged with silver lace, bound at the waist by a purple ribbon embroidered with the Trinity Holy Sigil.
Yet the aura she exuded remained extraordinarily potent—nearly at the peak of Tier 8, lacking only the accumulation of faith power to ascend to Tier 9.
On second thought, Lanqi realized this made sense. Lankeluosi could easily subdue the Lord of Blasphemy, Melogas, without Xigelei ever needing to intervene, so maintaining her attire as a devout believer of Holy Polant was entirely natural.
"Understood."
Xigelei nodded, closed the door behind her, walked over to the side of the desk, and stood upright facing Lanqi.
"She didn't pounce on you and hug you," Talia muttered inside Lanqi's mind, sounding quite surprised.
The Xigelei before them clearly kept her distance around the Pope, acutely aware that she was a mature woman and conscious of the boundary between herself and his Holiness.
The only thing unchanged was that her eyes held not the slightest attempt to conceal her affection and fondness.
"Even if the Lankeluosi timeline simulated by the Mirror of Tyberius isn't the same as the Shadow World, Xigelei is still Xigelei. Her behavioral patterns shouldn't differ too much, like how she expresses affection..." Talia analyzed.
She couldn't help but wonder.
Where on earth had her precious daughter Xigelei gone off track in the Shadow World, always insisting on clinging to Lanqi the moment she saw him?
*This is what's normal, alright? The Xigelei outside the mirror acts as though her mind hasn't matured in twelve years, still thinking she's a little girl. She throws her arms around my neck for a hug every time she sees me. I'm always terrified she'll suddenly plant a kiss on me, and I wouldn't be able to resist at all,* Lanqi replied helplessly in thought.
"Don't worry, with me watching with my own eyes, that will never happen," Talia declared with supreme confidence.
She understood all too well that Lanqi's inability to resist was meant quite literally.
But she would protect him.
"Xigelei,"
Lanqi said, looking at the figure across the desk with a strictly businesslike demeanor.
"What's wrong?"
Xigelei peered into the eyes behind the mask as if discerning something within them. Her brows drew together into a tight knot, and she asked with deep concern.
"There is a favor I need to ask of you. You are the only one who can help me with this,"
Lanqi spoke with solemn gravity.
...
[After entrusting the matter to Xigelei,]
[The two of you split up and returned separately to Hersalem, the capital of the Holy Polant Theocracy...]
The sky above the capital hung low and sullen, heavy with impending storm.
The soaring spires of the Hersalem Papal Hall were cloaked in gloom.
In the square below, Xigelei and her retinue stood in battle array, their eyes fixed on the hall's tightly barred grand doors.
Behind them, cohorts of temple knights and heresy inquisitors were sweeping in from both flanks.
The sudden upheaval around the Papal Hall caught the common folk completely off guard; terrified, they hid inside their homes, anxiously awaiting whatever political earthquake might sweep across the Holy Polant Theocracy.
"Decades of lies must come to an end today."
Chief Justice Elm of the Holy Court drew his holy staff, his voice freezing cold and his eyes burning with resolve.
As the trusted confidant of Pope Lankeluosi, he had made the resolute decision to turn against his master.
His silver-white plate armor gleamed beneath the overcast sky, radiating an aura of unyielding righteousness.
Beside him, the armor of the Tribunal's heresy inquisitors emitted a faint crimson glow, and the Paladin Commander's lance had already cleared its scabbard.
"Slay Lankeluosi! We are not instruments for his vengeance!"
The Chief Inquisitor growled, his voice echoing from beneath his helmet, brimming with fury.
And at the very forefront, the figure standing before the Papal Hall with a sword in hand—
Her fingers gripped the hilt tightly, her violet eyes gleaming with unwavering determination. Her pale hair fluttered in the gale like a brilliant banner.
"The Pope lost himself long ago to the 'Mind Laceration' inflicted by the Third Progenitor, Rasheal! We must stop his vengeance against the Horning Empire and prevent his madness from plunging the world into catastrophe! This is our duty, and it is the very conviction he once imparted to us!"
Xigelei, the Saintess, cried out at the top of her lungs.
"Charge—!"
The elite forces of the Church of Holy Polant roared in unison.
Before the echoes faded, the massive doors of the Papal Hall shattered beneath their assault.
The Hersalem Papal Hall—a grand, solemn monument towering above the sea of clouds—offered an effortless panoramic view of the entire imperial capital far below.
It stood as the bastion of power and faith, the spiritual pillar of Hersalem throughout the years of war, yet it was also the font of danger, a den of sin that harbored dark secrets.
The knights led by Xigelei charged up tier after tier of marble steps, finally bursting into the inner sanctum of the hall.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the ranks.
Horns blared, and battle surcoats snapped in the wind.
Under Xigelei's command, the Imperial Guards, temple knights, and heresy inquisitors surged into the Papal Hall like an unstoppable deluge, colliding head-on with the phalanx of guardian knights sworn to defend the Pope.
"Have you rebels lost your minds?!"
The guardian knights, bound by sacred oaths to protect the Pope and preserve the state, shouted in outrage.
"You are the traitors who abandoned the faith!"
Warriors from both sides crashed together like a raging tempest, erupting in deafening clashes of steel.
Blades flashed like snow, spears thrust like lightning, and sparks showered from colliding plate.
Xigelei fought at the vanguard like a valkyrie descended from the heavens.
She wielded the sacred protective blade of Holy Polant, sweeping through the opposition with unmatched ferocity.
As the Pope's guardian knights surged forward in waves, her silhouette darted gracefully, lunging and leaping with such speed that no foe could step within paces of her.
The Paladin Commander and the Chief Inquisitor followed close on Xigelei's heels, each displaying their formidable prowess.
These two Tier 8 paragons of Holy Polant fought like gods of war, decisive and merciless.
The Paladin Commander channeled divine arts in ceaseless succession, summoning crackling bursts of thunder, while the Chief Inquisitor swung his warhammer with broad, crushing sweeps, pulverizing everything in his path.
Assailants fell one after another, tumbling down the high marble staircase of the Papal Hall as dark mist curled across the bloodstained floor.
Before long, the strike force led by Xigelei breached the perimeter of the Throne Room.
Pushing open the towering, intricately sculpted gate of violet-black iron lattice, they were met by a blast of chilling air descending from the vaulted ceiling.
The vast circular hall was large enough to accommodate over a thousand people. Upon its walls of azure marble, statues of saints and knights were carved with gleaming gold trim. From the center of the soaring dome hung a colossal crystal chandelier, where thousands of flickering candles illuminated the chamber with brilliant radiance.
Lining both sides of the long crimson carpet leading toward the throne stood ranks of fully armored black knights.
Far deadlier than the guardians outside, they held spears like clockwork automatons. Their eyes burned with a cold, crimson glare, and their lips were set in grim lines, resembling forbidding statues.
Even the holy light twisted and warped here, while the solemn hymns of the Papal Hall skewed into a haunting, seductive requiem.
Many of the clerics who had breached the chamber alongside Xigelei couldn't suppress a shiver.
Without them noticing, the atmosphere within the Hersalem Papal Hall had grown chilling to the bone.
This served only to corroborate what Saintess Xigelei, Chief Justice Elm, and the rest of the high clergy had concluded—
The Pope had truly fallen.
*Clack, clack.*
The rhythmic march of elite silver-armored knights echoed from behind as the full vanguard assembled within the Throne Room.
They had already locked their shields into the Shield of the Firmament Formation.
Empress Khesia had long since entrusted the National Secret Treasure to Saintess Xigelei, giving her royal sanction for this crusade against the Pope and granting her command over Hersalem's defensive boundary to suppress him.
Even the imperial royal family stood behind Saintess Xigelei.
Though the temple knights remained uncertain whether this desperate gamble would succeed, they knew that if she achieved this feat, she would undoubtedly become Holy Polant's new Holy Emperor and eventually ascend to Tier 9 on the strength of the nation's faith.
"..."
Standing at the forefront, Xigelei turned her gaze toward the throne at the far end of the carpet, her posture taut with hostile vigilance.
At the summit of a dais dozens of meters high sat the figure of Pope Lankeluosi St. Anastasius.
"You have arrived, my beloved daughter. Why do you raise your blade against me?"
Robed in pure white, crowned with the papal tiara and silver mask, he held a staff of dark mist and bone, lounging languidly upon the throne as he looked down upon the gathered host.
Stained glass around the hall cast mottled halos of color across his form. His mask wore an expression of gentle benevolence, a faint smile gracing his lips, presenting the picture of a magnanimous father.
Yet his eerie, sinister tone sent a shudder down the spine of every cleric present.
Even toward Xigelei, whom he had raised with his own hands, he showed none of the expected warmth—only mocking amusement.
"You are no longer Lankeluosi! What sits there now is nothing more than a vengeful wraith blinded by hatred!"
Xigelei's eyes flashed with inner torment, yet her resolve was already forged in steel.
"..."
Seeing Xigelei's trembling hands grip the hilt and hearing the waver in her voice, the clerics understood that to commit such high treason and strike down the Pope, she was the one suffering the most.
"Is that so—?"
The white-robed Pope drew out his words as though humming a casual tune.
He finally rose to his feet.
"To think that today, I must slay you with my own hands, Xigelei."
The Pope looked down upon her from afar, his gaze sharpening.
Xigelei's eyes cut through the intervening space to meet Lankeluosi's.
In that instant, time seemed to freeze, and all sound ceased.
Only two unresolved souls confronted each other within the torrent of history, arriving at the hour of final judgment.
"You are no longer worthy of speaking my name."
Xigelei tightened her grip on her sword and took a firm stride forward, stepping onto the stairs leading to the throne without looking back.
Step by step, she closed the distance toward the fallen dictator, determined to tear away his rotting shell and reveal the truth to the world.
"Oh? It seems I was too indulgent with you in the past, spoiling a little stray wolf who knows nothing of the world."
A sudden crash of thunder detonated overhead as torrential rain battered the exterior of the hall, splashing mist across the marble sill.
"I am no longer your little stray wolf."
Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating Xigelei's face through the rose window.
Her form blurred, closing the distance to Pope Lankeluosi in the blink of an eye as she launched a straight thrust.
"Such matters are not for you to decide. Your life was given by me, and I can take it back whenever I please."
The Pope swept his staff, and a beam of iridescent black radiance plummeted from above, engulfing Xigelei.
Gritting her teeth, she swung her broadsword with both hands, dispersing the dark magic with sheer force. Her edge clashed against his staff with an earth-shattering boom.
Yet the Pope had already reinforced his skeletal staff with telekinetic magic, and the two titanic forces ground against one another in a deadlock.
When the blessings of the Shield of the Firmament and the choir of priests settled upon her, the Pope was actually forced half a step backward.
"Lankeluosi, you truly have weakened! You cannot defeat me as I am now!" Xigelei shouted.
"Foolish child. It is far too early for you to dream of besting me,"
the white-robed Pope scoffed coldly.
"How can a mortal vessel shake the sacred authority of the Pope!"
Freeing one hand, he gathered a blinding sphere of black radiance in his palm. Countless chains tore through the air, whipping straight toward Xigelei's limbs.
Xigelei's aura surged once more. Gritting her teeth, she bore down upon the Pope with her sword.
Sneering in disdain, the Pope tapped his staff lightly, releasing a concussive burst of telekinetic force that instantly threw Xigelei backward.
At the critical moment, the chains snagged her, yanking her violently away from the throne and slamming her into the ground, shaking the entire cathedral.
Moreover, the Pope possessed combat experience far beyond any mortal's reach. An invisible, impregnable barrier enveloped his body.
Even when Xigelei poured everything into her blade, retaliating midair as the chains dragged her, her strikes merely produced faint ripples across the shield's surface.
"Xigelei, if you submit to me once more, you will remain my beloved daughter. I shall dote on you even more than before, and your betrayal will be forgiven."
The Pope spread his arms wide, gazing down at Xigelei from the steps. His eyes turned gentle—as though offering an embrace, yet also seeking absolute dominion.
"..."
Xigelei pushed herself up from the rubble, a flicker of hesitation crossing her gaze, as if she were genuinely on the verge of succumbing to his temptation and throwing herself into his arms.
Then she shook her head violently, restoring her murderous resolve.
She charged at the Pope once more.
"Do not let his mental magic sway you!"
Having cut through the black knights, the Paladin Commander and the Chief Inquisitor flanked the Pope from both sides of the grand staircase.
They were certain Xigelei had nearly been bewitched by the Pope's insidious sorcery.
How sinister, how vile!
"Right!" Xigelei agreed against her conscience.
In truth, the Pope hadn't used any magic just now.
Her fist lunged forward, violet eyes blazing with light. The force of her strike struck like lightning in the night, intent on claiming the Pope's life in a single blow!
The Chief Inquisitor gave the Pope no room to evade, swinging his massive warhammer before his target's eyes.
With murder in his heart, his armor radiated a scorching, crimson glow like a blazing furnace.
The Paladin Commander's binding arts followed instantly, leaving the Pope with no avenue of escape.
*Buzz—!!*
Xigelei's fist smashed into an invisible iron bulwark. Black mist erupted upward from the floor before the throne, sending waves of metallic ringing and shockwaves rippling out in rings.
Caught off guard, the Holy Polant Pope was forced to absorb the combined assault of two Tier 8 combatants at point-blank range.
Within the barrier, the Pope's black mana sliced across the floor like blades, severing the space between himself and the rebels.
Engaging three adversaries at once, the tide of battle reversed. The murderous intent pouring from his former comrades continuously seared his flesh.
The green eyes behind the silver mask lost focus for a fleeting second.
He seemed to recall some scene from the past, and his movements hitched.
The impenetrable shield around his white robes began to fracture.
"Be on your way, Pope."
An imperial Tier 8 assassin lurking in the shadows loosed a volley of arrows in rapid succession.
The shafts tore through the air with piercing shrieks.
Every shot flew true, and the Pope could not muster the focus to deflect them all.
With muffled thuds, several arrows buried themselves in the papal robes, spraying blood.
Clutching his shoulder, the Pope stumbled back several paces.
"Xigelei, now!" the Paladin Commander roared.
Understanding the cue, Xigelei drew her blade once more. Her white surcoat billowed like a soaring dragon as she aimed the tip straight between the Pope's brows.
At that razor's edge, an upheaval erupted!
"No! I will not fall like this...!"
The Pope muttered deliriously, shaking his head like a madman.
A deafening tear echoed from the ceiling as chunks of stone and masonry crashed down.
Immediately after, an overwhelming deluge of crimson hellfire erupted from the floor, engulfing the cloud-kissed cathedral.
At the center of the flames, a colossal silhouette rose from the ground, taking shape.
It was a scaly, nine-headed hydra spanning dozens of meters in length.
"Even if four Tier 8s besiege me, led by you, Xigelei, who nears Tier 9, you are still no match for me! Never!"
The Pope staggered to his feet, raising his skeletal staff as he descended into frenzied mania.
His words sounded almost like he was explaining why the outcome of the battle made logical sense, but none of the knights present were relaxed enough to ponder whether the Pope was playing commentator.
Before his voice died away, the hydra lunged at the crowd, opening its gaping maws to vomit scorching breath.
Rolling flames swept across the flagstones, scorching and cracking the marble floor while scalding steam billowed into the air.
The barrier formed by the knights' shield wall strained to its limits against the inferno.
Xigelei leapt backward, barely dodging the breath, feeling the blistering heat wash over her skin.
She looked up to see the summon's massive frame blotting out the hall. Eighteen giant eyes gleamed with ravenous, insane crimson light, its fangs like a forest and its claws like scythes.
Yet Xigelei showed no fear; her fighting spirit burned hotter than ever.
"The Pope has been pushed to the point of relying on a summoned beast! Do not fear!" she shouted, rallying the knights.
"By order of Empress Khesia, I stand with you!"
The imperial assassin followed close behind, joining the frontal assault.
The two paragons of Holy Polant exchanged a glance and threw themselves into the fray.
Seeing the mortals attack, the hydra grew more frenzied, letting loose an ear-splitting roar.
Snapping its wings shut, it swooped toward the ground.
Its talons carved deep trenches into the marble, sending stone fragments flying everywhere.
Xigelei led the charge. Tossing her sword aside, she drove her bare fists toward the beast.
With a resounding clang, her immense strength channeled brilliant light into her palms, allowing her to catch the hydra's front claw with her bare hands.
Simultaneously, on the hydra's flank, the Chief Inquisitor's warhammer ignited with crimson fire as he slammed it into the serpent's flank. The scales were so hard they didn't yield an inch, the rebound numbing his grip.
The assassin fired rapid arrows aimed at the eyes, but the armored plating on the beast's heads proved too thick; the shafts snapped on impact as it closed its lids.
The Paladin Commander leapt high into the air, driving his lance down toward the serpent's neck.
Even for a warrior celebrated for his well-rounded mastery, the spear tip barely pierced the scales before grinding to a halt.
The hydra reared back with a roar and kicked out with its four legs, hurling all four attackers backward at once.
Xigelei absorbed the full brunt of the blow, taking five heavy steps back before regaining her footing.
"Xigelei, is this all you amount to? And you dare covet my seat?"
Before the Pope's mocking words could settle, the hydra arched its back, bathing itself in blinding crimson brilliance.
The light flared until the entire hall was as bright as noon.
Then, a piercing shriek emanated from the core of the orb, sending a chill through the souls of every cleric present.
*The Pope cannot be defeated.*
That despairing thought gripped every heart, spreading like an infection.
"I will show you that I am the strongest! You can roll down from that seat with peace of mind!"
Xigelei pointed toward the dais, speaking to the Pope with absolute dominance.
The steeper the odds, the hotter her battle fervor blazed.
Her aura was so overpowering she resembled a queen ruling the land—never satisfied with merely controlling what lay before her, but bent on conquering everything within her sight.
Just as the unstoppable behemoth was about to shatter their lines and reduce the entire hall to rubble, moonlight descended.
Perhaps it was the design of the Goddess of Fate, or perhaps the favor of the Silver Moon Goddess.
Silver radiance blossomed around Xigelei.
Her wounds knit in an instant, her condition surpassing anything she had displayed before.
The sudden arrival of hope stunned the temple knights.
"Even the gods stand with us!" Xigelei's voice reverberated through the hall.
"She's right! The gods are on our side!"
Seeing the divine light upon Xigelei and her surging power, the other clerics caught sight of victory and rallied.
The priests raised their croziers, chanting incantations. As their voices swelled, a gentle white light spread across the ceiling—a radiance that could only condense from pure, unblemished devotion. Bathed in the light, everyone felt their strength surge.
Even the hydra's eyes were stung by the radiance, and it let out a pained shriek.
Xigelei drove forward with a heavy punch, smashing into the beast's scaled torso.
It was knocked back dozens of meters, baring its fangs as it slammed into the wall, nearly breaking through to plunge into the clouds below.
"What?! Even the gods have chosen you, Xigelei?!"
The Pope bellowed, his voice shaking the pillars.
"Hey, don't overact like that," Talia complained in Lanqi's mind.
While she admitted Director Lan's performance as the villain was convincing and well-modulated, some lines were far too on-the-nose. It made her skin crawl.
She almost worried Xigelei wouldn't be able to match his melodrama.
Inside the Throne Room, beams of light from the priests focused on the hydra as their hymns swelled without pause.
The white light intensified, coalescing into chains that bound the hydra's limbs and torso. Attacks from the Paladin Commander, Chief Inquisitor, and imperial assassin rained down in rapid succession.
The hydra roared and struggled wildly, but Xigelei's frontal might was simply too overwhelming.
Its scales peeled away piece by piece, and the red light in its eyes began to dim.
Seizing the opening, Xigelei raised her fist high and brought it crashing down upon the beast.
With an earth-shattering boom, the hydra collapsed, carving a massive crater into the floor.
Blood filled the dais steps, spilling down the tiers.
As the dust settled, silence returned.
Xigelei leapt down from the dissipating summon, soaked in blood yet standing straight as a pine.
"Did we... win?"
The champions stepped forward one by one, nursing heavy injuries, and let out a collective breath of relief.
Yet Pope Lankeluosi St. Anastasius had vanished without a trace, having slipped away unnoticed.
"He actually fled...!"
Xigelei scanned the shattered ruins of the hall, her fists clenching tight.
"Knowing he could not defeat you, he fled in disgrace, Your Majesty Xigelei."
Chief Justice Elm stepped forward from the crowd and knelt before Xigelei.
"Your Majesty Xigelei, please continue to lead us."
The Paladin Commander and the Chief Inquisitor bowed in turn, offering their allegiance.
Chaste moonlight pierced the clouds, spilling down to illuminate the Papal Hall in silver.
The gloom dispersed, revealing a clear night sky beyond the ruined dome.
Through the massive breach, the distant spires of Hersalem were faintly visible.
"Your Majesty Xigelei..."
"Your Majesty Xigelei!"
"Your Majesty Xigelei—!"
The clergy began chanting her name in unison, eagerly awaiting her ascension to the throne that was rightfully hers.
Xigelei lowered her head, clenching her hands.
When she looked up again, she had concealed the sorrow of parting and ascended the steps of the dais.
"This victory belongs to everyone,"
Xigelei announced, taking her seat upon the throne and looking out over the congregation.
"Surviving companions, in the name of the new Pope, Xigelei St. Anastasius, I declare: now that the old Pope's conspiracy has been exposed, the Holy Polant Theocracy shall be reborn!"
Her voice rang out clear and proud.
The long-lost sacred light spilled through the tall rose windows, bathing the hall in radiance and restoring the solemn sanctity of wartime.
Under the leadership of Holy Emperor Xigelei, the future of the Holy Polant Theocracy was rewritten, brimming with boundless hope and possibilities.
...
Meanwhile, across the night sky, a white-robed figure soared over the territory of Holy Polant.
[Under your orchestration, the interior of the Holy Polant Theocracy fell into complete disarray.]
[The reformist faction led by Xigelei presented ironclad evidence—the Pope's past medical records and numerous war archives, proving he had suffered an uncurable Tier 9 epic mental curse during the war years ago.]
[The closer the Pope drew to the end of his life, the more he would descend into madness, losing himself and potentially slaughtering anyone indiscriminately.]
[As the Saintess he trusted most and personally chose, she was obligated by duty and responsibility to see him off.]
[You and Xigelei put on a grand performance; in the Throne Room of the Papal Hall, you were besieged by the reformists led by her.]
[You demonstrated your stage-one weakness, your stage-two late-life corruption, and your stage-three complete madness.]
[After being narrowly defeated by Xigelei and the Church's core forces, you succumbed to madness entirely, fled the Papal Hall, and headed south.]
[With that, Xigelei leveraged her talents to swiftly unify the Church of Holy Polant, becoming the nation's new Holy Emperor.]
"With the defeated old Pope's whereabouts unknown and suspected to be heading south, the entirety of southern Holy Polant will enter the highest state of alert," Lanqi murmured to himself.
After Lanqi confessed the truth of the Horning Empire to Xigelei in the office and laid out his final arrangements, no matter how much it pained her, she had agreed to his request.
The south was teetering on the brink of disaster; a catastrophe was imminent.
She understood that only she could shoulder the Pope's burden, freeing him to head south and fight without hesitation.
Thus, after Lanqi selected the option to visit Hersalem, events unfolded in this manner.
"This way, even when your lifespan runs out, Holy Polant will have a new Tier 9 Holy Emperor in short order. Your fall from grace is an established fact, so whatever you do next won't shake the core of the Theocracy... On the contrary, the more evil you commit, the more it proves Xigelei was right, cementing her leadership over Holy Polant..."
Talia reflected, finally grasping the true purpose behind Lanqi's staged play.
"It isn't over yet,"
Lanqi replied, his gaze fixed on the south.
The scenery shifted before him.
Transforming into a streak of shadow, he flew southward across the land of Holy Polant. The towering fortress city on the southern border soon rose into view.
The orderly streets and ancient, imposing architecture of the southern frontier were laid bare before his eyes.
[Where will you go next:]
[A. Eoberon]
[B. Hansabeck]
[C. Talberg]
[D. St. Trick]
[Remaining Lifespan: 4 days, 03 hours, 36 minutes]
Above the earth, the demonic script of the Mirror of Tyberius linked together once more.
"Where is this Eoberon?" Talia asked after reading the prompt, puzzled.
"I'm guessing it's Oberon," Lanqi replied.
Oberon was the southern frontier of Holy Polant, also known as the Iron Fortress, bordering the Horning Empire.
The Lord of the Inverted, Tiberius, seemed to possess an obsession with uniform character counts.
Talia opened her mouth and closed it again.
She wondered if this Lord of the Inverted was truly unwell in the head.
Then again, artistic types were often like that.
Lanqi had his share of quirks as well.
"..."
Lanqi felt that Talia had recently developed a habit of treating him like a daily quest.
He didn't bother arguing with her and focused on the choices before him.
Hansabeck was a north-central province of the Horning Empire.
Talberg was a south-central province that had appeared in the second simulation, where Lanqi had been placed on the governor's wanted list for hunting demonic humans.
St. Trick was the unchanging final destination—the Horning capital that concealed Blood Moon City.
"What will you do next?" Talia asked the Pope—or more accurately, the former Pope.
He had lost his status, his reputation, and stood entirely alone.
Logically, there was no need for further investigation; he could head straight for St. Trick and conclude this simulation.
Yet Lanqi had said it wasn't over.
He likely had other plans.
"Declare war."
Lanqi selected the third option, "Talberg," the south-central province of the Horning Empire.
His objective was crystal clear.
Instantly, the entire world stretched out before him.
He hurtled southward at the speed of a Tier 9 powerhouse.
[You passed the southernmost edge of Holy Polant, the Iron Fortress Oberon, where the local garrison and the Horning border city were preparing for the fourth anniversary of the peace and reconstruction of the Sevilla continent.]
[Continuing south, you entered the northern Horning province of Herslein.]
Like a bird looking down upon the mortal world, Lanqi observed the city's expanse from above.
[At night, on the postwar border of the Horning Empire, cold winter moonlight spilled over the snow-covered main city. Greenhouses, lush produce, brilliantly lit markets, and merchant plazas—the festive peace and joy of winter appeared only as sorrow in your eyes.]
[You gave up on catching one last glimpse of your hometown, the small town of Brunswick, for you had far more important matters to attend to.]
[Along the way, you no longer transformed into Demon Hunter Randall to eliminate demonic humans.]
[You flew straight toward the south-central territory of the Horning Empire.]
...
The next afternoon.
In the western part of Talberg Province within the Horning Empire, there sat a small town named Therinster.
Nestled against mountains and streams, the undulating terrain boasted picturesque scenery, with babbling brooks winding through the foothills.
At dusk, the setting sun melted like gold, coating the land in layers of warm light.
On the high ground of the town, benches offered a full view of the settlement and the sunset.
Children darted past the steps, while in the distance, middle-aged men in formal attire read their newspapers.
Looking out, the vast outskirts stretched to the horizon. The sinking sun slowly melted into the skyline, dyeing the heavens in pink and setting the clouds ablaze.
A gentle evening breeze ruffled the hair of the townsfolk, carrying the faint, refreshing scent of roses.
Through the open window of a wooden cottage on the edge of town, a warm family could be seen gathered around the dining table, enjoying a hearty meal.
The rancher raised his glass and proclaimed happily, "To the great Horning Empire, to our happy and peaceful lives! May tomorrow be even better!"
The whole family chimed in agreement.
"Sweetheart, your birthday is in a few days. Do you have a wish?" the wife asked, turning to her daughter with maternal warmth.
"I want to visit the Blood Domain in St. Trick to see the legendary Blood Clan and thank them! Teacher said we only have peace today because they're protecting us," the daughter answered with a sweet smile.
"Well, we might not be able to visit the capital right away, but there will be chances in the future," the wife said hesitantly.
She had heard rumors that some vampires favored the blood of young children, and she had no wish to see her daughter drained dry.
"Mama, isn't offering our blood to the Blood Clan masters an honor? Why are you afraid?"
The girl's eyes went wide, staring straight at her mother as if seeing through her misgivings.
"I... I'm not."
Noticing the entire family looking at her, the wife could only force an appeasing smile.
Before long, the cheerful atmosphere returned, and everyone resumed eating and laughing.
No one noticed the ominous dark clouds gathering in the sky.
Assuming it was merely an ordinary evening shower, people went about their business as usual.
Patrons at the town tavern leaned out the windows, looking toward the horizon.
"Why did it get dark all of a sudden?"
"It's about time for nightfall anyway."
Smoke curled through the window frame from a patron's fingers as he lazily took a drag.
The clouds thickened rapidly, blotting out the sunset until Therinster and the surrounding settlements were swallowed by gloom.
"!"
Suddenly, every resident across the town felt a sharp electric jolt in their minds.
Reality collapsed. A vision of the void surfaced as the sky, clouds, and sun vanished.
In the blink of an eye, the world around them was unrecognizable.
Everyone felt as though they had been dragged into a desolate expanse—
A barren wasteland without moon or sun.
Here, time could freeze, space could warp, and the boundary between reality and illusion was obliterated.
The townsfolk found themselves enveloped in dead silence, surrounded only by familiar faces, their own heartbeats and breathing ringing loudly in their ears.
This surpassed their comprehension—whether it was illusion, mental magic, or the wrath of a god.
Piercing lightning split the sky, followed by deafening thunder that made the earth tremble.
People exchanged terrified glances, dread coiling around their hearts like suffocating vines.
Gradually, a figure manifested within the dark clouds, draped in a pure-white robe. A silver mask concealed his face, leaving only cold, merciless green eyes visible.
Around him, lightning crackled and tempests howled.
Like a distant deity, he looked down upon the ant-like mortals with utter indifference.
[Hear this, citizens of the Horning Empire.]
No one could tear their eyes away. His presence was an invisible shackle, binding their minds so they had no choice but to listen.
[My name is Lankeluosi St. Anastasius.]
None knew why he had appeared.
The only certainty was that with a single thought, their bodies would crumble to dust and their souls would be swallowed by darkness.
[I speak to you through my own will.]
[My campaign has begun.]
[My purpose is to bring an end to my long-held resolve, to demand justice for my fallen kin.]
[This current peace cannot bring rest to their spirits; they cannot sleep.]
[The Horning Empire must pay in blood.]
[I refuse to accept the peace you yearn for.]
[There shall be no forgiveness. There shall be no salvation.]
[Only justice. Only vengeance.]
[I shall commence an indiscriminate slaughter.]
[Until every living soul of the Horning Empire is erased from this world.]
His words were mad, yet his tone remained unnervingly calm, devoid of joy or sorrow, like someone who had grown weary after obtaining ultimate power.
This was divinity.
Yet as he reached the final declaration of driving out every last Horning citizen, his voice rose—a surge of suppressed fury finally breaking free.
...
Hours later.
The earth roared, stained in blood.
The sky over Talberg Province in the Horning Empire was choked in ash and crimson, plumes of smoke rising into the clouds.
The ground was no longer solid, fracturing and collapsing under relentless tremors.
Millions of inhabitants fled like ants in blind panic, only to discover there was nowhere to run.
Corpses littered the earth—crushed, mangled, or trampled to death in the chaos.
Screams and pleas for help echoed everywhere, yet sounded pitifully frail against the thunderous march of the black mist legions.
On the horizon, a tide of darkness advanced with slow, inexorable momentum. The undead army marched in locked step, every stride shaking the ground for miles around.
Wherever they passed, forests were consumed, rivers dammed and diverted, hills leveled, and great cities crumpled like cardboard, debris raining down in torrents.
The air reeked of acrid smoke, dust, and blood.
In a few short hours, several major cities of Talberg Province were reduced to rubble.
The masked man stood on high ground, overlooking the ruined expanse.
His green eyes mirrored the devastation, the expression behind his mask cold to the point of numbness, directing the war like a god.
By this point, it was impossible to tell whether this was fate or human will.
There was only endless slaughter.
The atrocities continued.
"Spare me! Don't kill us!"
"Save me!"
"Why? Why have you fallen so low?"
He was begged, cursed, hated, and questioned.
He offered no explanations.
He merely watched through the eyes behind the mask.
He was sin and punishment, the arbiter of life and death, the Black Sun that brought ruin to the world.
All questions drifted past his ears like smoke.
"Until I slaughter you all, or until you kill me."
"I will never stop—"
The man murmured almost silently, like the whisper of a vengeful wraith, or the decree of a tyrant.
With those parting words, his silhouette dissolved into the darkness once more. Gripping his staff of mist and bone, he stepped forward, alone.
[You carried out indiscriminate eradication across Talberg Province of the Horning Empire.]
[According to your current intelligence, northern Horning residents remain largely uninfected, but the south is already rotten to the core.]
[Once Duke Rasheal, the Third Progenitor, is sealed, every Horning citizen from the central provinces southward will inevitably mutate into demonic humans.]
[Before their transformation, their combat capability is nowhere near as high.]
[You have become the Black Sun Tyrant in full.]
...
Meanwhile.
Thousands of kilometers away, deep beneath the Horning capital of St. Trick.
A crimson blood moon hung high in the pitch-black dome, casting hazy red veils over the dark-stone city that rested within this pocket dimension.
Beside the deserted streets, heavy architecture stood frozen against the dust of ages, with only the occasional breeze stirring through the silent alleys.
Deep within Blood Moon City, inside the Blood King Palace.
Beneath the towering vault, rose windows set with immortal crystals refracted kaleidoscopic, intoxicating halos of light. Wrought-iron chandeliers hung from cold chains, casting lavish hues over the deep-crimson carpet that flowed like a river of blood to the far end of the hall.
At the center of the council chamber, thirteen high-backed throne-like chairs flanked a long table of blackened iron.
Currently, only four of those seats were occupied by Progenitors.
They listened to the report delivered by Delsen Schwarzenburg, the Defense Minister of the Horning Empire.
Field Marshal Delsen, who typically strutted with his head held high through the streets of St. Trick above, now knelt prostrate on the floor, eyes glued to the stone, not daring to look directly at the four Progenitors.
He had just finished reporting the emergency turmoil sweeping down from the north.
"Lankeluosi went mad?"
Duke Rasheal, the Third Progenitor, stared in utter disbelief.
That guy was being even more ruthless than them.
He had bypassed skirmishes and launched an outright war of extermination.
"Heriteer, what is his heavenly destiny status?"
He couldn't help but turn to Marquis Heriteer, the Seventh Progenitor.
For Lankeluosi to resist the Mind Laceration for so many years had been impressive enough.
His sudden breakdown now validated the signs they had been anticipating.
"Within a few days. In about two days, he will drop below Tier 9,"
the female vampire seated on a distant high-backed chair answered calmly. Her eyes remained closed as she gazed through the ceiling, reading the patterns woven by the dim stars in the night sky.
"Splendid, truly splendid!"
Duke Rasheal leaned back and roared with laughter, clapping his hands delightedly.
"Lankeluosi, you got what you deserved!"
Just picturing Lankeluosi dying with his eyes wide in grievance made Rasheal laugh until he ran out of breath.
He hadn't been this thrilled in decades.
"Quick, stoke the fires for the Holy Polant Pope! Broadcast his slaughter of civilians to the world, condemn his genocidal actions internationally, and dispatch more Horning troops to the meat grinder! Let the world see that Lankeluosi is a true demon, and let them witness his cruelty and madness!"
Rasheal wiped away tears of mirth as he issued orders to Marquis Bernhard, the Ninth Progenitor.
Lankeluosi truly was his finest plaything.
Not only could they drag his name through the mud,
They could also use these cheap Horning lives to drain Lankeluosi's dwindling strength and burn away what remained of his lifespan.
Even if he managed to fight his way to Blood Moon City, he'd be fortunate to have half a breath left, degraded to Tier 7 or Tier 8.
...
The following day.
At dawn.
On the Eleven Plains in southern Horning sat an ancient fortress once known as Eleven Pass.
Situated in a narrow valley between two low hills, it boasted centuries of history. Once an essential military gateway to the north, it had gradually lost its luster as the empire expanded and new trade routes opened.
Pale grey light washed across the walls, illuminating moss and weeds. Inside the empty pass, only the wind wailed through the ruins.
Though decayed, the fortress still stood silent and proud.
Several miles down the official highway from Eleven Pass, a massive, elite Horning army was marching northward.
Thousands of mounted troops kicked up plumes of dust, their steel plate and weapons glinting with cold light in the morning glow.
A forged blade was the proof of justice.
The moment an enemy fell, one drew a step closer to being a hero.
"Today, our Horning First Heavy Armored Cavalry Legion will fulfill His Majesty's commission and purge the beasts terrorizing Talberg Province!"
The imperial general at the vanguard rode tall, brimming with confidence for this campaign.
"I hear the disaster in Talberg Province isn't so simple. It doesn't seem like the localized destruction caused by a high-tier beast running amok,"
the adjutant beside him remarked with a grim expression.
"At most, a few towns suffered. How far can a rampaging beast really go? Besides, the worse the disaster, the greater the glory and merit for this seat."
The general smirked, secretly wishing the reports from the province were even more exaggerated.
"How long until we reach Talberg Province?" he asked his adjutant.
"At full march, we can reach the border from Eleven Pass in two days. As for finding the source of the disaster within that vast province, that will depend on the accuracy of our intelligence,"
the adjutant replied, studying an unfolded map.
"Haha, then there's no rush at all,"
the general chuckled with easy composure.
Yet as his gaze casually drifted toward Eleven Pass ahead, his eyes suddenly went wide.
Before the crumbling gateway stood a quiet figure clad in white robes.
The man was slender, his face concealed by a silver mask in the style of Holy Polant.
He used no concealment arts, yet his presence blended seamlessly into the dawn-lit ruins.
Not a trace of aura leaked from him!
Had the general not seen him with his own eyes, he wouldn't even have sensed a living person standing beneath the archway!
He seemed fused with the world itself, an eternal fixture—as if only he remained.
The emerald eyes behind the silver mask carried a strange, hypnotic pull, drawing onlookers in helplessly.
Beneath the arch of Eleven Pass.
"Hehehe."
Watching the grand Horning army marching forward like lambs to the slaughter, the white-robed Pope seemed to see right through the empire's playbook.
"Rasheal, it seems we're marching straight toward each other this time."
Chapter 791