Dawn broke, painting the horizon in pale fish-belly white, and a veil of mist draped over the barren wilds.
Beneath the dilapidated, kilometer-high fortress gate.
Behind his silver-white mask, the black centipede curse mark clinging to his left cheek glowed faintly, mirroring the relentless, surging mana in his emerald-green eyes.
He raised his hand. The finger pointed far toward the advancing legion slowly sliced to the right.
Total silence reigned, broken only by the rustling of wind blowing through dry wild grass.
In an instant, it was as if a gale stretching across ten thousand meters had cleanly cleaved the entire legion in two. Wherever the storm's edge swept, not a sliver of life remained—or perhaps his sovereign decree had sheared the very scroll of heaven and earth!
Countless warriors had once fought, bled, and died before this mountain pass, storming or defending the gate. Now, ten thousand meters of earth were once again dyed crimson with blood, leaving only the solitary figure in white robes standing before the fortress.
The white-robed Pope withdrew his finger and placed his hands behind his back once more.
To him, it was as though nothing had happened at all, callous as if those lives had been corpses from the very start.
"Clearing minion waves at Tier 9 really is fast," Talia remarked.
If it were her, wiping out an army on the march would have taken considerably more effort.
Had the legion made it inside a defensive barrier without an allied army to absorb the suppression and firepower, clearing them out would have been difficult even for her. If there were enemy Tier 8 hero units stationed within the defenses, crossing those fortifications for a duel could easily result in being counter-killed.
Yet for the Tier 9 Lankeluosi, he could bypass it all and brute-force any kill.
Short of several top-tier Tier 8 combatants coordinating from within the defenses, defeating him was impossible.
"It's a pity I can't take this account back to the real world to join the Southern Continent war. It's too absurd. This Blood Moon Ruined World is on a level 99 patch, while the real world is stuck on version 89—completely different dimensions."
Lanqi agreed that Lankeluosi's tier was simply excessive for the real world's current era.
Of course, setting aside the impossibility of logging this account into reality, it couldn't even leave the illusions of the Mirror of Tyberius.
In the actual shadow world of the Immortal Eternal Punishment finale, he was only a pitiful Tier 6.
"You're still much more natural as a utility shaman. When you play a hard carry mage, there's always an indescribable stench to it."
Watching Lanqi's spell selections along the way, Talia knew he preferred tactics with greater psychological pressure and deterrent value over mathematically optimized firepower.
"I just hope that when this shadow world concludes, you can pull one of Lankeluosi's spells. Any of them would be a massive gain," she wished for him.
Regardless of anything else, Lanqi possessed exceptional synergy with Lankeluosi's sealing arts.
Talia believed that apart from the Lord of Blasphemy, who merely polluted the reward pool as the final adversary, Lanqi's rewards for clearing this shadow world would almost certainly tie back to Lankeluosi.
"You might pull one of Caliera's spells or accessories too," Lanqi offered in return.
Ever since she began cosplaying Caliera, Talia had steadily become genuinely useful.
"Heh, you're not secretly hoping I'll dress up as Caliera to give you lectures, are you? Keep dreaming," Talia said with feigned reluctance.
In truth, if she really could take on Caliera's persona, she was eager to try.
That way, she could constantly be recognized as a "gorgeous, dignified, mature, and competent" great demon.
"No, no, no. For card crafting, you still need your classic skin. Nobody pulls off that flavor quite like you," Lanqi countered.
"You..."
Talia chanted the word 'endure' over and over in her mind.
Once they returned to the Creti Empire in the real world and lived under the same roof, she would have all the time in the world to properly educate him.
Demon script from the Mirror of Tyberius continued to scroll across the surface of Eleven Pass.
[You have completely annihilated the Horning Empire First Heavy Cavalry Legion. Behind you, the plains of Eleven Pass have been stripped of every blade of grass.]
[You carved a path of devastation through Talberg Province and have now arrived in the southern Horning region of Lusitani Province. Your atrocities will send shockwaves through the entire Seville Continent, alerting even the Land of Eternal Night and the Demon Realm, permanently engraved into the annals of history.]
[Where will you choose to go next?]
[A. Annihilate the Province]
[B. Head Straight South]
[C. Depart Northward]
[D. Intervene Personally]
[Lifespan Remaining: 2 days, 14 hours, 52 minutes]
"Of course, the only option is to keep heading south. Even if Lankeluosi misses Xigelei in his heart, that battle in the Throne Room was their final parting."
Lanqi glanced back toward the north and shook his head.
There were two southward choices.
Both annihilating Lusitani Province and heading straight for St. Trick counted as moving south.
Lusitani Province was about to become scorched earth.
He still had time.
Before reaching Horning's capital of St. Trick, he could still eliminate a vast number of Horning citizens who had not yet turned into demonic humans.
Unsurprisingly, Rasheal would dispatch legions upon legions to wear him down, expediting his descent from Tier 9.
"Wait for me, Rasheal. I'll be there soon."
Lanqi looked no longer at the north where the Holy Polant Theocracy lay, turning instead toward the south.
The white robes gradually vanished into the morning mist, leaving behind only a slender, solitary silhouette.
***
Northern Holy Polant Theocracy.
The capital, Hersalem.
After weathering a cataclysm, Hersalem had finally regained its peace.
As dawn broke over this ancient city, an opulent coronation ceremony was being prepared in breathless haste.
The Holy Polant Theocracy was about to welcome a new sovereign—the hero who had led the people to uncover the truth and thwart the corrupt clerical conspiracy.
"Have you heard? The Horning Empire to the south seems to be in grave danger."
"I've only heard rumors. Don't go spreading gossip. The calamity currently ravaging Horning stems from our former Pope..."
"What Pope! Our Pope now is Her Holiness Xigelei St. Anastasius!"
Listening to the horrifying reports drifting in from the south of the Seville Continent, the citizens couldn't help but feel profoundly fortunate that Her Holiness Xigelei had struck down Lankeluosi.
Otherwise, the ones currently being slaughtered without distinction by the maddened Lankeluosi would likely be the people of Hersalem themselves.
Flowers, ribbons, and balloons adorned the alleys and avenues of downtown Hersalem, fluttering on every windowsill.
Whether indoors or out on the streets, people gathered in clusters, murmuring excitedly about the impending grand event.
The coronation was to take place in the loftiest, most magnificent edifice in Holy Polant—the Hersalem Papal Hall.
After days of thorough cleaning and repairs, the scars of battle had been smoothed away, restoring the Papal Hall to its former splendor.
Outside the grand hall, clerics stood assembled in immaculate formation, wearing white cloaks bordered in blue. At their head, paladins hoisted the national flag of Holy Polant, embroidered with the unicorn crest.
Well before the ceremony officially commenced, the plaza fronting the Papal Hall and the streets stretching kilometers beyond were packed shoulder to shoulder in an endless sea of people.
Tens of thousands of citizens converged from every quarter, crowding the plaza to absolute capacity just to witness this historic moment.
At the center of the plaza sat a circular elevated platform draped in crimson carpets, enclosed by three tiers of white marble pillars adorned with flowing blue-and-white ribbons. In the middle of the dais stood a statue of the Goddess of the Moon, draped in a silver veil and bearing a wooden staff.
On the broad front stairs, erect knights stood flanked in two files. Clad in silver-white plate armor with blue plumes fluttering from their helmets, they leveled their spears like a wall of steel, their unicorn banners snapping in the breeze. Below the stairs, the church choir and orchestra stood at the ready to strike up the celebratory hymn.
Clang, clang!
Like ripples falling across a pristine heavenly realm, the solemn tolling of bells joined the ceremonial music.
As the hour arrived, a grand honor guard marched forth from the Papal Hall, escorting Xigelei, clad in ceremonial robes, as she slowly ascended toward the dais.
Xigelei was enveloped in a gentle, holy radiance. She wore a pure white gown laced with gold trim, advancing with dignified grace and a gentle smile, her breathtaking, noble countenance radiating an approachable warmth uniquely her own.
Behind her, the double doors of the Papal Hall stood wide open, a red-carpeted central walkway stretching back to the interior like a sacred road leading straight to the heavens.
As the carillon chimed in unison and cheers surged like the tide, the stunning Pope Xigelei smiled and waved to the crowd, basking in the heartfelt adoration of her people.
"Glory—Praise—"
The Temple Knights swiftly formed a human wall around the high platform, standing vigilant to ensure the new Pope's investiture proceeded without the slightest hitch.
Behind them came a procession of white-robed bishops. Bowing respectfully to Xigelei, they lined the right side of the plaza, proclaiming the Holy Polant Curia's total devotion to supporting the new Pope.
With everything prepared, Xigelei ascended the dais to the swelling strains of sacred melodies and the ringing cheers of the Polant populace.
Like the rising sun spilling thousands of golden rays, Xigelei's silhouette appeared dazzling beyond compare.
Standing upon the platform, her compassionate, gentle gaze swept across the crowd below, and she raised her right hand slightly, signaling for quiet.
In an instant, total silence washed over the plaza.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for the new Pope's inaugural address.
Clearing her throat, Xigelei spoke, her voice resonant and firm, every word carrying unyielding weight.
"Beloved children of Holy Polant. Today, in the name of the Goddess of Fate and the people of Holy Polant, I swear that with an earnest heart and passionate blood, I shall lead Holy Polant toward a brighter tomorrow. After enduring trial and tribulation, we have finally seen the dawn of rebirth, yet our greatest test may have only just begun... Let us march forward together, hand in hand, and carry through the original intent of our predecessor!"
The moment her words landed, sustained applause and ecstatic roars erupted below.
"Long live Xigelei!"
"Long live Holy Polant!"
The cascading shouts fused into an unstoppable torrent.
Innumerable petals and colorful ribbons fluttered in the wind like dancing butterflies, painting the entire plaza in a dreamlike spectacle.
The climactic moment arrived.
Empress Khesia stepped forward bearing a velvet tray, upon which quietly rested the radiant triple crown symbolizing supreme authority.
Amid held breaths, Empress Khesia carefully raised the tiara above her head, awaiting the witness of every citizen present.
Every gaze in the plaza converged devoutly upon the crown, and upon the new Pope.
Taking a deep breath, Empress Khesia recited the coronation vows with deliberate gravity:
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and in the name of the millennia-old legacy of Polant, I stand witness to bestow this crown left behind by our founding Pope upon the legitimate successor of the Holy Polant Church, Xigelei St. Anastasius. May she be noble, wise, and benevolent; may Holy Polant prosper under her reign, and may its people enjoy enduring peace and abundance."
As the oath concluded, Empress Khesia entrusted the crown to Xigelei.
The dazzling golden tiara gleamed brilliantly, enhancing Xigelei's regal grace.
Cheers, applause, and tears of heartfelt joy seemed ready to pierce the heavens and soar straight into the clouds.
Xigelei looked at the crown before her and set it atop her head.
A fleeting trace of sorrow flickered across her eyes as her gaze swept past the steps below, though she knew full well she would not find the figure she longed to see.
Yet she had to smile.
"In the name of the Goddess and the people, I swear that I shall not fail your trust."
Raising her scepter, she addressed the gathering once more.
The carillon rang melodic, hymns drifted through the air, and morning light poured through the rose window, plating the Papal Hall in gold. As the sun shattered the clouds to bathe all creation in light, Xigelei raised her scepter solemnly, leading the gathered multitude in the rousing anthem of Holy Polant, elevating the coronation to its absolute zenith.
"Diligence and devotion, winning hearts through virtue, governing through righteousness—let Holy Polant restore its former glory!"
Xigelei's voice rang bold and unwavering, ascending to the high heavens.
Amidst the earth-shaking roar of approval, thousands of white doves took flight, coalescing into a pristine cloud against the sky.
Morning radiance cut through the mist, enveloping the entire plaza in a golden aura.
***
Several hours passed.
The coronation came to an end, and the raucous clamor of Hersalem gradually faded into the distance. Holy Polant's newly ordained Pope Xigelei returned to her Throne Room.
Beyond the heavy oak doors, all was lavish and magnificent. The soaring vaulted ceiling displayed freshly restored Church frescoes, and the walls were newly inlaid with emeralds and amethysts according to the new Pope's requested palette.
At the end of the elevated dais sat the unchanging Holy Polant Papal Throne.
Xigelei sat listlessly upon the throne, staring blankly out at the empty hall.
Her thoughts drifted back over a decade.
Back when she was still a little street urchin wandering the alleys of Hersalem.
She had never imagined that she would one day become Pope.
In those days, she had to worry about being hunted down by the Blood Clan every single day, never knowing a night of restful sleep.
Everything changed the moment she accepted a contract to escort a client to the Land of Eternal Night.
That was when their story began.
"I remember telling you back then that one day I'd grow strong enough to protect you, so raising me into the strongest warrior would never be a loss... But you always smiled and called me silly, saying that in your eyes, I'd never grow up."
Xigelei murmured softly.
She was already a mature woman now.
She had gradually come to understand the bitter ache of loving someone she could never pursue.
She knew she could not make that man stay; fate had decreed that they were never meant for a happy ending in this lifetime.
From the very first moment she met him, she had recognized the martyr's destiny written deep in his eyes.
Even so, there were countless beautiful fantasies she simply couldn't forget.
"Without you here to crown me, this throne... feels so cold..."
Tears welled in her eyes, filled with memories, hollow and exhausted, showing none of the resolute strength she had displayed outside this morning.
If it were possible, she wished desperately that she could meet him just one more time.
The silence of the Papal Hall could not conceal her grief.
The statue of the Goddess carried a compassionate expression, holding aloft a bright lantern as she looked down upon mortal life.
The long red carpet ran straight to the base of the throne, and on the candelabras to either side, the holy flame burned quietly, casting its flicker across the marble walls and their murals depicting the legends of reincarnation.
After a long time.
A knock sounded on the Throne Room doors.
"Enter."
Wiping away her tears, Xigelei smoothed her expression back to solemnity and called out toward the main entrance.
The Throne Room was a space where only the Pope had the right to freely tread.
Anyone else required the Pope's permission to enter.
In truth, to a certain degree, when they had stormed the Throne Room two days ago, it had only been because Lankeluosi had permitted it.
The world simply didn't know.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and the assembled figures saw only their majestic new Pope.
Xigelei rested her hand casually on the armrest of the throne, her posture serene as she watched the clergy enter the hall.
In addition to the high-ranking Church dignitaries dressed in full regalia—several bishops in pure white robes on the left, and senior ministers of the Papal Hall in blue-and-black ceremonial attire on the right—there were also the Chief Inquisitor and Paladin Commander who had fought alongside her, as well as the Chief Justice of the Holy Court who had helped orchestrate the campaign.
Chief Justice Elm, cloaked in black robes and bearing the silver balance scales emblem of the Holy Court upon his chest, stepped forward.
"Your Holiness, news has just arrived that the turmoil in the southern Horning Empire has expanded. They claim that a figure in white robes and a silver-white mask is indiscriminately slaughtering entire provinces. Every minute, hundreds of thousands of civilians are butchered. Furthermore, they pointedly notified neighboring nations, and upon hearing the news, foreign attitudes toward our Theocracy are growing severely hostile."
Elm knelt on one knee to report.
He phrased it delicately, but everyone present knew who the white-robed figure behind the silver-white mask was.
Hearing this, Xigelei remained surprisingly calm.
"Though the situation is grave, we cannot afford to panic. The top priority is to reinforce our southern defenses and prepare to intercept Lankeluosi at any moment. Implement a nationwide state of alert and heighten vigilance. At the same time, dispatch envoys to communicate with neighboring realms, making it clear that Holy Polant will never condone its subjects committing atrocities abroad. We will severely punish the perpetrator and reassure the public. However, if anyone dares to fish in troubled waters, violate our citizens, or slander the Holy Polant Theocracy, we will by no means sit idly by."
She rose slowly and spoke with measured composure, her voice neither obsequious nor arrogant.
At these words, the archbishops fell into stunned silence before a low murmur of discussion broke out.
Every eye fixed upon Xigelei, swirling with complex emotions.
They all understood.
Xigelei was a true hardliner, an outright radical.
Under the pretext of intercepting the former Pope, the one she truly intended to strike might well be the Horning Empire itself.
This was an overt military threat aimed squarely at Horning!
She had inherited the old Pope's legacy down to the letter.
"Understood."
Chief Justice Elm bowed and withdrew alongside the core officials of the Papal Hall.
They had originally worried that the new Pope Xigelei might diverge wildly from the old Pope's strategic direction.
Now it seemed the new Pope was simply a female, martial version of the old Pope.
With her at the helm, the Holy Polant Theocracy was bound to usher in a glorious and formidable era.
***
Two days later.
In the glow of sunset, the fated destination—St. Trick.
Viewed from on high, the winding Rhine River resembled a golden ribbon dividing the city in two, its surface reflections dazzlingly bright.
Along the riverbanks, St. Trick Cathedral stood tall in the twilight, and in the nearby Horning Empire Plaza, pedestrians strolled and chatted, enjoying the serene peace of the evening commute.
On the southern bank, the Moonlight Tower, carved from solid marble, was ringed with spiral staircases and corridors.
The observation deck at the tower's summit was magnificent at sunrise, resembling a hanging garden suspended amidst morning clouds.
Lanqi now stood at the railing of that observation deck, looking down upon the city.
[You have arrived at the southernmost capital of the Horning Empire, St. Trick.]
[You are the very avatar of a heavenly cataclysm, standing above millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions, a billion lives. Your execution was so swift that even St. Trick remained unaware of your approach.]
[Every living soul and military force across the provinces along your path has been entirely extinguished by your hand.]
"The setting sun is boundlessly magnificent,"
Lanqi murmured to himself, gazing at the western horizon.
"Merely near its twilight?"
A voice resonated in his mind as Talia asked.
"Merely that the setting sun is boundlessly magnificent,"
he replied.
"Before it sets, it's time to finish the final task."
The text from the Mirror of Tyberius continued, creeping up the observation deck of the Moonlight Tower like climbing vines, dense demon script ringing around him.
[What will you choose to do next?]
[A. Wanton Destruction]
[B. Raid the Blood Realm]
[C. Lurk and Sightsee]
[D. Intervene Personally]
[Lifespan Remaining: 0 days, 7 hours, 31 minutes]
Lanqi had no intention of wandering the streets on the north bank this time around.
Consulting the opinions of St. Trick's citizens had long ceased to serve any purpose.
"The final choice,"
Talia murmured, having followed Lanqi through an extraordinarily vast number of branches on this run.
He had hit as many southern Horning provinces along the way as possible.
Lanqi selected 'Intervene Personally.'
Immediately, the flow of time slowed to a crawl.
As if awakening from a dream, he regained full autonomy over his actions, standing physically and tangibly upon the high observation deck of St. Trick.
Looking down, he found himself clad in a casual vest, perched atop the Moonlight Tower.
"Hey, are you afraid of the Holy Polant Pope?"
Lanqi turned around on the deck and asked the locals visiting the tower.
"The Pope? That lunatic running rampant across Horning?"
"The Blood Clan has always protected us. Why would we be scared of some localized unrest? Haha!"
A patron sitting outside the open-air cafe answered casually, his tone dripping with unquestioning faith in the vampires.
"Do you really think so?"
Lanqi pressed calmly, his tone carrying a faint trace of curiosity and inquiry.
"Those damned zealots from Holy Polant always love smearing the Blood Clan, but we're not gullible enough to buy their lies! Look at this mess—it's the Theocracy's doing again, while the Blood Clan has been keeping us safe."
A well-dressed middle-aged man spoke indignantly, his face contorted in resentment toward the Theocracy.
"Even their Pope isn't clean himself. How could the Holy Polant Theocracy ever be anything good?"
Another burly man clenched his fist and spoke with resolute conviction.
"True enough. This time, the Pope really isn't anything good."
Lanqi quietly absorbed the Horning citizens' remarks, a smile touching his lips as he actually nodded in agreement.
He remembered with vivid clarity how these very people had been turned into strings-attached puppets of the vampires in previous runs, utterly pliable and docile under their control—and that had never changed.
Yet at this moment, aside from cold pity, he felt nothing at all.
He gently raised his fingertip.
An inverted sunset.
A purifying brilliance.
It fell slowly from the vault of heaven.
In the blinding whiteout and deafening detonation, every sound in the world was erased.
Within that all-consuming pillar of fire, only the sinister silver-white mask remained visible.
The figure in the casual vest vanished, restoring the true form of the Holy Polant Pope.
When the thunderous roar returned, a colossal shockwave had already swept across the entire city-state of St. Trick!
The asphalt streets charred black, instantly flashing into steam. Clear lakes were vaporized by the searing blast, leaving behind only parched, cracked beds and absolute silence.
The once-soaring spires, bustling markets, and majestic temples were reduced to ash. Long after the apocalyptic detonation had settled, the skies remained choked in dark dust, casting the ruined world in a bleak, dusky yellow.
Across the ground, magma-like embers spread in every direction. Scorchingly hot air churned violently, making every breath oppressive. Where the landmark Moonlight Tower once stood, an unnatural crater of unfathomable depth yawned, belching acrid smoke.
Only the wind sang low, as if mourning this devastation, or perhaps singing of the tormented souls finally liberated from this doomed city, soaring toward heavenly soil.
At the epicenter of the blast, scorching waves continued to pulse, the soil along its rim breathing with rhythmic, glowing red light.
The entire city of St. Trick was desolate and empty, leaving only the solitary white-robed Pope standing in its center.
"Are you paying tribute to the Bishop of Destruction this time?"
Talia had noticed that Lanqi took particular delight in borrowing the techniques of his allies and former enemies.
Compared to light magic, whenever Lanqi took direct control, he favored other elements.
It often made him look far more like a villain than the actual villains.
"This spell provides a fairly accurate simulation of a Tier 8 powerhouse's desperate last stand. Besides, I already knew how to cast it anyway,"
Lanqi shook his head.
"Could your Nuclear Fusion Wolf produce this kind of blast? How about setting one off in Brillda during the next Creti Empire National Day parade?"
Talia hadn't actually witnessed the Nuclear Fusion Wolf's full destructive potential in live combat.
"No, no, no. That definitely cannot be set off in Brillda,"
Lanqi firmly rejected the suggestion.
If the current Nuclear Fusion Wolf were detonated by Talia, it would benefit from the dual amplification of both the Sealing Tablet and the Fire Tablet; even he couldn't accurately estimate its blast radius.
At most, it was useful for threatening enemies in an emergency.
Sometimes, an unexploded bomb was the most useful bomb of all.
"..."
Talia started to say something, then held her tongue. Principled though the boy might be, his thought process was still fundamentally that of a terrorist.
Right at that moment, several tangible strands of mana suddenly locked onto Lanqi's body.
The disturbance from his spellcasting had alerted the Blood Clan Progenitors lurking beneath St. Trick.
Just like the previous two runs, the Progenitors had discovered the desperate Holy Polant Pope at the end of his rope.
Time to open the door for me, isn't it?
Lanqi mused, staring out across the charred expanse of St. Trick.
Without keeping him waiting, the scenery warped violently.
In a dizzying whirl, he dropped into a bizarre bounded field.
Buildings and trees around him plummeted upward at breakneck speed as shrill winds shrieked in his ears.
He began falling downward at terminal velocity, an inverted cityscape sprawling before his eyes.
Countless structures thrust upside-down into the pitch-black night, completely upending the laws of gravity. Interlocking buildings created jagged geometric recesses, resembling an intricately constructed three-dimensional Rubik's cube maze.
The entire city reached desperately toward the sky, yet plummeted helplessly toward the core of the earth.
"My lord Pope, what puts you in such a foul temper today?"
A mocking voice echoed around Lanqi, booming like the decree of a god.
Behind his silver-white mask, Lanqi smiled without answering.
Inverted in freefall, his white robes billowing, he dropped toward the Blood King Palace.
"Oh, Lankeluosi, I've looked forward to seeing you so much these past few days. For you to arrive without giving me advance notice really hurts my feelings."
Third Progenitor Duke Rasheal's taunt echoed through the darkness like a phantom.
After falling for an indeterminate time, a grand palace enclosed around Lanqi.
The wide corridors before him flickered out of existence only to reappear elsewhere. Doors continuously shifted positions, opening into entirely disparate chambers. Endless staircases spiraled into nowhere, and doors along narrow hallways snapped open and shut, gushing churning seas of blood that threatened to swallow everything whole.
Suddenly, an ornate sliding door slowly parted directly before Lanqi.
Without hesitation, he crossed through it, his falling momentum rapidly slowing.
Lanqi surveyed his surroundings and touched down lightly at the center of the circular plaza within the Blood King Palace.
"Welcome to Blood Moon City, Holy Polant Pope."
A handsome youth stepped out from the crimson mist, giving Lanqi an elaborate bow suited for the curtain call of a grand performance.
He had delicate features, porcelain-white skin, and sleek brown hair that cascaded to his shoulders.
A pitch-black velvet suit lent him an ethereal elegance, with the golden crest of Horning nobility embroidered on his lapel. At first glance, he seemed merely a pampered young nobleman, yet gazing into those ruby-red eyes revealed an ocean of accumulated knowledge far beyond his apparent age.
"Having fought your way all the way to Blood Moon City, perhaps you've uncovered a little about the demonic humans. How does it feel?"
Duke Rasheal's lips curved slightly, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes.
"I feel great."
The green eyes behind the silver-white mask blazed like torches, looking right past Rasheal and into the mist behind him, locking onto the coordinates of the other Progenitors.
A searing arc of crimson fire erupted from his palm and shot straight into the firmament, instantly illuminating the entirety of Blood Moon City like a purgatory.
Countless blazing sparks converged in the void, weaving into a net of hellfire that descended over Blood Moon City like an inescapable canopy.
"Don't get so worked up right from the start, Lord Pope. There are plenty more surprises in store,"
Duke Rasheal sneered.
A purplish-red, tortoise-shell barrier quickly solidified around Rasheal, holding the flaming net at bay.
The two torrents of mana collided midair, unleashing an ear-splitting roar.
Lanqi stood firm, channeling light and fire magic continuously through the back of his hand.
Yet gradually, this initial exchange lapsed into a deadlock.
Across kilometers of ground, a massive magic circle formed beneath Third Progenitor Rasheal's feet, radiating mana that far surpassed the Pope's burst of power. Billions of purplish-red motes of light swirled wildly through the Blood King Palace, morphing into crimson serpents that hurtled toward the Pope's formation, thick enough to stifle the very air.
Lanqi remained silent, ramping up his output to swiftly manifest a stone sealing barrier before him.
Even under Duke Rasheal's full-force onslaught, the stone shield held fast, with only a web of hairline fractures spreading across its surface.
A heartbeat later, dazzling rays burst forth from the Pope, weaving into ten thousand light chakrams in midair that ground forward toward Rasheal with crushing momentum.
The two catastrophic forces collided violently in the void. An earth-shattering detonation shook the entire Blood King Palace, and within seconds, both attacks canceled each other out, restoring quiet to the hall.
"Sigh, Lankeluosi. Weakened as you are, do you honestly still think you're the invincible Holy Polant Pope of your prime?"
Having concluded the clash, Rasheal appeared entirely at ease, a mocking smirk playing across his face.
The Pope slowly lowered his hand, his expression beneath the mask obscured in shadow.
"Lanqi, haven't I watched this scene three times already?"
Though Talia knew the details differed with each simulation, the opening of all three runs had been essentially identical.
Except that in the first attempt, he genuinely couldn't win.
In the subsequent runs, Lanqi had simply started enjoying himself.
Well, since I chose to intervene personally, this cutscene can't be skipped, Lanqi rationalized in his mental reply.
"Fair point..."
Talia couldn't refute him.
Lord of Inversion Tyberius was at least a decent designer on that front, granting the Mirror of Tyberius a functional skip feature.
However, it was restricted to scenarios where one didn't intervene personally.
Lanqi had once mentioned that a developer at his previous company refused to implement a cutscene skip function, after which the developer's mother passed away shortly thereafter—leading Lanqi to organize his coworkers to burn incense for her.
Raging flames abruptly erupted from the subterranean depths. Like liquid magma, the Blood King Divine Fire swallowed the plaza in an instant, painting the pitch-black space in crimson abyss.
Searing heat began baking the Pope's body.
This time, the sea of purgatorial fire Lanqi had unleashed earlier also spread across the floor, making it impossible to distinguish whose flame was whose.
"The rest of you shouldn't just stand by and watch. Come help me entertain our distinguished guest,"
Duke Rasheal turned back toward the horizon with a knowing grin, calling out to the silhouettes waiting at the edge of the plaza's bloody mist.
I bet there's half a second left, Lanqi mused inwardly.
Before his thought finished, a figure suddenly materialized before him.
A burly man emerged from the fog, the golden tassels on his military dress uniform fluttering in the wind. A provocative smirk played on his lips as surging power radiated from his frame, stretching his uniform to the point of tearing.
He threw a right fist forward like a bolt of lightning, aiming straight for the Pope's face.
As the sonic boom echoed through the Blood King Palace, Lanqi barely slipped past the devastating strike.
The Pope's evasive maneuver appeared clumsy, his single-footed landing looking panicked and frantic, yet not a speck of dust clung to his hem.
"Haha! Pope, are you performing an acrobatic routine?"
Eighth Progenitor Somerset laughed at the Pope's comical, exaggerated movements.
Soon, this Pope would realize that the peace of this era was nothing more than an illusion.
The deaths of his worm-like companions were destined to be completely meaningless.
And he would succumb to impotent rage, discovering that in his twilight years, he had long lost the strength to contend with the Blood Clan.
He had no idea that even if he still held his Tier 9 power, it would be useless, for the Blood Clan had already sown their venomous seeds across the entire world.
"Somerset, even if he has fallen from his peak, he innately holds an advantage against our kind."
A cool female voice drifted from the mist, tinged with a note of caution.
A stunning female vampire draped in a gauzy, deep-purple gown glided forward. The moment she joined the fray, the mana signatures of Duke Rasheal and Marquis Somerset surged sharply, reaching an entirely new tier.
"My lord Pope, haven't you killed enough along your journey? Even our Blood Clan might not have slaughtered as many people as you have."
Another voice chimed in leisurely.
The mist condensed to reveal an exceptionally handsome blond man stepping forward. He wore a cream-colored silk shirt beneath a velvet waistcoat, an emerald ascot tied at his collar. Wavy, golden-brown curls fell casually across his brow, partially obscuring his ruby eyes.
"You've wasted so much of the livestock we painstakingly cultivated. Shouldn't you offer us some compensation? Some entertainment, perhaps?"
Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bernhard asked in a warm, polite tone, sounding very much like a hospitable gentleman.
Heriteer's prophecies had never failed.
This aged Holy Polant Pope had, at most, a day or two left to live.
"Why is Your Holiness so quiet? Have you foreseen your demise and succumbed to despair?"
Duke Rasheal inquired, his words dripping with the cruel amusement of a predator playing with its prey.
He looked forward with relish to watching the Pope unravel step by step.
"Not at all."
The white-robed Pope raised an index finger and gave it a gentle wag.
"...Hm?"
Rasheal narrowed his eyes.
"Then what do you mean by that?"
Lankeluosi's reaction caught him entirely off guard.
The masked, white-robed figure was quiet—unsettlingly, excessively calm.
It was as if an entirely different person stood before them.
Not only was there no trace of shock or doubt emanating from Lankeluosi, but he also seemed utterly indifferent to the vast disparity in power, as though everything were entirely natural. The madness and fury from before were completely gone, replaced by the casual composure of someone enjoying afternoon tea.
And he kept that index finger raised, never lowering it.
Rasheal couldn't decipher what he meant.
Unhurriedly, the white-robed Pope reached up and removed his mask for the very first time, the relaxed smile on his face seemingly unchanged from the beginning.
"I only need one index finger to fight all of you."
Looking past his slender finger, he addressed the four Progenitors across from him with utter nonchalance.
Chapter 792