Today was December second.
It was not any special holiday.
Yet this morning, the entire Southern Continent turned its eyes toward the colossal titan at its southernmost reaches—the Creti Empire.
As confirmed by all parties across the nations, after enduring a Blood Clan upheaval, not only had the southern Creti Empire avoided burying its national fortunes, but a Tier 9 powerhouse had actually emerged from the ordeal. And today, he was to formally take hold of the empire's supreme authority, ascending the throne and being crowned.
At such a critical juncture, the emergence of a Tier 9 national guardian hero in the Creti Empire was undoubtedly earth-shattering, dreadful news for the allied nations currently locked in war.
What caused even greater panic was Hyacinthus's stated intention: he would continue the war initiated by Emperor Saint Bardo unless the allied nations of the north were willing to sue for peace.
Yet the councils of the allied nations knew full well that, as the aggressor holding the decisive advantage, the Creti Empire under Hyacinthus had zero intention of backing down. Nor was it possible for them to surrender midway at this point. Instead, he would impose even more outrageous demands in exchange for peace with the allies.
Even if a treaty were signed, whether the Creti Empire, now wielding absolute power, would honor it in the future was one question. But the cost would inevitably be higher than they could bear, stripping away what little power to fight back they still possessed.
Since yesterday, member states within the United Council of Kingdoms alliance had already begun showing inclinations to seek peace talks with the Creti Empire.
...
Hutton Kingdom.
Winter in Ikerite was rarely harsh, even on a morning like this.
In the School of Alchemy sector of Ikerite Academy,
a clear roadside brook meandered along, reflecting the winter foliage and lending an extraordinary tranquility to the early morning. Further in the distance, across the bank, flower fields formed part of the School of Alchemy's botanical gardens, serving also as a teaching and research base for biological engineering.
"Sigh, there's been no interesting news lately. The whole of Ikerite Academy feels utterly lifeless..."
With her hands clasped behind her back, Luweixier stepped along the stepping stones in the brook, wobbling back and forth as she balanced across the shortcut.
In addition to the magic-energy recording camera hanging around her neck, two badges hung from her chest, designating her both as a student council member and as a reporter for the Hutton Times.
As the student council secretary, she rarely reported for duty unless the council president was truly strapped for hands and called on her.
With little work at the newspaper office these days, she had nothing better to do than wander aimlessly around the campus.
Red-brick buildings towered nearby, etched with engineering secrets left behind by the history of the School of Sages.
Her footsteps traced the academy's deep pathways along familiar roads.
Nowadays, front-page headlines were entirely dominated by the war.
She didn't like it one bit.
Hardly anyone read articles by a junior reporter like her anymore, with her pieces squeezed into forgotten corners.
The atmosphere at Ikerite Academy this year lacked the vibrant energy that usually accompanied the year's end.
Even tourists and local residents passing through the campus had become a rare sight.
Most Ikerite residents visiting for the first time found the academy bewilderingly labyrinthine, wandering in circles without reaching their destinations, though helpful students were usually around to guide them.
Luweixier, however, was already in her third year and knew every inch of the sprawling campus by heart.
Lost in thought, Luweixier soon passed several major landmarks. Just ahead lay Jera Memorial Square.
Generally, this was the only place that retained some liveliness regardless of the hour,
all thanks to a giant outdoor screen that everyone loved watching.
It was crafted two centuries ago by Jera Zelt, a magic artificer who had graduated from Ikerite Academy. If one looked closely, many of his creations could be found across the campus.
If she remembered correctly, when her junior Lanqi first arrived, Princess Vivian had tested him on his knowledge of the artificer Jera. To Vivian's immense surprise, Lanqi's answers had proved far deeper than those offered by most art connoisseurs. Vivian had recognized back then that Lanqi was no ordinary person, and later, her older brother, Prince Ainuoer, went one step further, practically desperate to swear brotherhood with Lanqi.
"What a nostalgic, auspicious place."
Luweixier stopped and looked toward the square emerging in her view.
Her lovely juniors—also known as the Royal Capital Bully Trio—back when their antics first began to escalate, had drawn massive crowds of teachers and students to Jera Memorial Square during every single Shadow World challenge.
At this moment, the high clock face on the School of Sages tower unhurriedly pointed to eight in the morning. The outdoor giant screen, surrounded by lecture halls, was broadcasting the day's most important live event.
For today's Creti coronation ceremony would likely determine the course of the Southern Continent war, if not the direction of the next several years.
"Hyacinthus is rotten to the core. They're clearly the aggressors, yet the moment he seized power, he chose to keep fighting."
Students on the square's steps were engaged in heated debate.
"He might be our enemy, but to the people of the Creti Empire, he's a guardian god. If they admitted fault for the war started by the previous emperor, the Creti Empire would have to pay a tremendous price, which would undeniably harm the empire. Hyacinthus's decisions have always favored what benefits the empire most."
"Besides, between the current battle lines and this newly emerged Tier 9 powerhouse in the Godly Realm, they hold an overwhelming advantage. They'll never surrender on their own. From their perspective, the most rational move is to press forward relentlessly."
"You think he cares about morals when it comes to us in the kingdom? The moment he agreed to this war as the First War God, he became a terrible sinner in our eyes. He's only a hero to the empire's people."
Listening to the students' chatter, Luweixier languidly found an elevated seat at the far edge of the steps. Resting her chin on her hand, she watched the empire's coronation ceremony on the screen to pass the time.
"Tomorrow's papers will just be filled with the same old stuff anyway. Doesn't matter if I watch or not," Luweixier pouted, mumbling.
War was a dirty game, and those who profited were invariably dirty players.
Judging from where Hyacinthus stood today, whatever lay behind his success was bound to be steeped in underhanded methods.
After grumbling internally, Luweixier propped her chin back up and stared at the broadcast on the giant screen.
...
In the south of the Creti Empire.
Light snow drifted over the capital, Brillda.
After surviving a catastrophe, the city had finally regained a long-lost tranquility.
Shortly after dawn broke over this storied city-state, preparations for a grand coronation ceremony were proceeding in full swing.
Faint golden sunlight filtered through gaps in the clouds, falling alongside the light snow upon the waters of the Grande River.
This reborn heart of the empire possessed a splendor and beauty that rivaled any coastal or mountain city in the realm.
Today, the Creti Empire would welcome a new leader—the hero who had led the people to uncover the truth and thwart the Blood Clan's conspiracy.
"Have you heard? The Day of Cleansing was actually orchestrated by Emperor Saint Bardo. Over the past two days, more and more evidence of past events has been brought to light."
"Who didn't already know? After the Day of Cleansing, the biggest winner wasn't the commoners or the nobles, but Emperor Saint Bardo, whose imperial authority became far more secure. The extremists either died in the riots or were executed afterward. It was just that while Emperor Saint Bardo was alive, no one dared discuss it, let alone investigate."
"Things are different now. Denouncing Emperor Saint Bardo is the prevailing narrative."
Passersby conversed in whispers along the streets of the central district.
Whether at home or out on the avenues, people gathered in small groups to discuss the impending grand occasion.
Hearing the mounting scandals unearthed regarding Emperor Saint Bardo's imperial house, coupled with his conduct on the day of the Blood Clan upheaval, the residents could not help but shudder in lingering fear. Thank goodness that hypocritical monster of an emperor was dead, and the one about to take power was Hyacinthus—the people's leader and hero who had truly saved them.
Regarding Hyacinthus's ability to wield the Syros Heroic Spirit Sword, most considered it a fairy-tale miracle.
A handful of scholars theorized that the sword could not possibly be drawn by someone lacking imperial blood; perhaps Hyacinthus genuinely possessed some royal heritage and had merely fallen among commoners due to past misfortunes.
Regardless, nothing could alter the reality that the fervently supportive populace was eager to usher him onto the throne today.
The empire needed a leader who was powerful, upright, and dependable.
Furthermore, judging by his track record since becoming First War God, he had always treated the people with benevolence and shown deep care for commoners, cementing their unwavering support.
In the Manhott District of central Brillda,
heroic statues stood solemnly around Creti Memorial Square, awaiting this unprecedentedly grand coronation.
Towering edifices and a rich artistic atmosphere permeated every corner of Brillda.
Around Creti Memorial Square at the heart of the city-state stood white monuments and dark-gray statues of the First-Generation War Gods, each distinct in style.
Following urgent repairs, the cracks on the face of the First-Generation War God statue had been restored as good as new.
The coronation ceremony was set to take place at the grandest, highest monument in central Brillda—Saint Astri Palace—and across Creti Memorial Square.
Days of clearing and repairs by the Machinists had smoothed over the scars of battle, and the imperial palace, whose eastern barrier had been shattered, miraculously regained its former splendor.
The empire's sun climbed higher and higher.
On the memorial square, an ancient sundial dusted with translucent snow crept toward nine in the morning.
Long before the ceremony officially commenced, the square before Saint Astri Palace and the streets stretching kilometers beyond were packed with residents as far as the eye could see.
Tens of thousands of citizens flooded in from all directions, crowding the outer perimeter of the square shoulder-to-shoulder just to witness this historic moment with their own eyes.
Although the upheaval from three days ago left many still gripped by lingering fear and wary of dense crowds,
it did little to dampen their anticipation and trust in Hyacinthus today, nor the reassurance he brought them.
Perhaps because true security returned after great disaster, or perhaps to honor the citizens who had tragically perished during the Blood Clan's attack, countless residents had still turned out to watch the coronation.
The entire city-state had mobilized for this moment.
Along the thoroughfares outside Creti Memorial Square, knights patrolled to and fro, their armor flecked with snowflakes as the thundering clatter of hooves echoed across the flagstones. They stood on high alert to ensure safety and order throughout the ceremony.
The altar, several meters high, was carved from the finest Wind Island stone. Its four sides bore the Creti Empire's national crest and roaring lions with heads held high, while the top, as always, depicted the heroic spirits of ancestral forebears—some bearing swords, others shields—bearing witness to this historic moment.
On the steps before the imperial palace, stalwart Royal Guards formed ranks on both flanks. Clad in midnight-black heavy plate with red plumes trailing from their helms, they formed a wall of steel. The royal ceremonial orchestra stood ready at the foot of the stairs, prepared to strike up their fanfare at any moment.
Clang, clang!
As nine o'clock arrived, bells tolled alongside the ceremonial fanfare.
Before Saint Astri Palace, temporarily restored by the imperial Machinists, a long crimson carpet unfurled across the stairs, stretching deep into the palace like a holy path descending from heaven.
Lining both sides of the red carpet, knights stood in immaculate formation.
Draped in deep-black armor and gripping broadswords, they stared straight ahead with eyes ablaze with loyalty, their silhouettes as immovable as mountains.
Horns resounded, echoing like heavenly music over the skies of Brillda.
As the fanfare peaked, the grand palace doors slowly swung open.
Golden light streamed from within like the first rays of dawn, illuminating the entirety of Creti Memorial Square and the delicate snowflakes drifting in the air.
Under the gaze of thousands, Hyacinthus walked slowly out from the palace.
He wore robes woven of white and gold, draped in a heavy blue cloak embroidered with golden patterns, shimmering radiantly in the light.
Yet none of it outshone the legendary Syros Heroic Spirit Sword clasped firmly in his hand.
Ancient Syros runes flickered along the blade, the power of ancient heroic spirits awakened entirely on his account.
A gentle smile, as serene as ever, graced Hyacinthus's face. Appearing humbled and deeply touched by the people's acclaim, he raised a hand to greet the endless sea of residents in the distance.
The crushing pressure of the past three days had left no mark upon him.
It served as living proof that he had stepped into a godly realm; the wounds sustained from his bloody battle against the Progenitor had nearly healed in a mere three days.
In Creti Memorial Square, beneath the Twelve Foundation Seats, aside from the vacant First Diamond Seat and Sixth Aquamarine Seat, the other ten War Gods stood waiting for Hyacinthus just as they had on National Day, carrying out their duty to maintain order and witness the emperor's coronation.
They had once stood shoulder to shoulder guarding this realm, and now, they were here to watch their comrade-in-arms crowned king, inaugurating a new chapter for the Creti Empire.
"Hyacinthus, it's thanks to you that we were saved,"
Eighth War God Conzel of the Aureolite Seat sighed, murmuring to himself as he looked in Hyacinthus's direction.
He still harbored profound guilt over Emperor Saint Bardo's death.
Had Hyacinthus not vanquished Rasheal, the Blood Clan Progenitor, several of the War Gods would still be under Blood Clan mind control, committing atrocities against the empire.
Fortunately, Hyacinthus had shown them the utmost magnanimity, granting them a full pardon. The Blood Clan incident was laid to rest, and he asked only that they continue to fight for the empire.
"Don't worry about it. Everyone took part. Even if Emperor Saint Bardo were still alive, he would have had no choice but to pardon us,"
Fourth War God Jasper remarked, a derisive gleam glinting in her mechanical eye.
She felt little guilt herself; so long as the outcome was favorable, that was enough.
The more the investigation uncovered, the less fondness she had for Emperor Saint Bardo. She even believed he should have died long ago, his crimes beyond redemption.
"Relying on safety in numbers, are we?"
Fifth War God Lukayed of the Mica Seat muttered.
Though naturally inclined toward discipline, he found himself unable to refute Jasper's words.
Regardless, what was done was done. In their own ways, the War Gods expressed their respect and reverence for Hyacinthus's coronation.
Only Julius remained silent for a long time.
"Julius, are you alright?"
Ninth War God Ryan of the Amethyst Seat turned to Julius beside him, noticing his sour complexion.
Ryan was another War God who had recovered from Blood Clan control. Over the past two days, whenever he recalled what he had done, he was wracked with regret. He had not only committed countless misdeeds and nearly harmed his comrades, but his relationship with his younger sister, Ursula, had likely plummeted to freezing point.
Beside his self-reproach, he felt intensely apologetic toward Julius, whom he had nearly injured that day. Julius had a fiery temper on the surface, but he wasn't one to hold a grudge against a comrade over such things, which only deepened Ryan's guilt.
Of course, Ryan understood that Julius was having the hardest time of all. Violet had likely died at the hands of the Blood Clan Progenitor Rasheal, and even her remains were still unaccounted for.
It was only natural that Julius would be in low spirits.
"I'm fine. Let's focus on the task at hand. Today, we offer our blessings to Hyacinthus,"
Julius turned his head toward Ryan and spoke softly.
"That's good," Ryan replied, giving Julius another look.
He was sure Julius seemed physically fine, yet Julius's expression gave him the odd impression of a mask—as if Julius were holding back an inferno of rage just to see today's duties through to perfection.
Amid the cheers of the imperial populace, Hyacinthus walked unhurriedly toward the circular, stage-like sacrificial altar atop the memorial square.
"Long live Hyacinthus!"
"Long live the Creti Empire!"
The cheers rolled like ocean waves, rising higher and higher into the skies. Snowflakes dusted their cheeks with a mild chill, but it did nothing to dampen their fervor; they firmly believed this light snow was an auspicious omen.
The people waved imperial banners and tossed flowers into the air.
Hyacinthus reached the altar.
He turned around, facing his future subjects and the mantle of duty and destiny he was about to assume.
Winter sunlight breaking through the clouds gilded him in gold, as though the gods themselves were crowning him.
And there he stood, like a deity, like a true sovereign, towering above the multitude.
"Hyacinthus,"
Eleventh War God Simonro of the Emerald Seat, temporarily stepping in as priest in Violet's stead, stepped forward bearing an ancient tome and spoke Hyacinthus's name with a smile.
It contained the laws and creeds of the Creti Empire. Inlaid upon the cover was a teardrop-shaped gem, symbolizing the radiant truth of Elsaya Sanctuary.
Normally, the coronation ceremony was presided over primarily by the High Priestess of Elsaya Sanctuary. But with Violet tragically slain just days prior, none of the remaining Moon Goddess priests from Saint Creti Monastery were qualified to shoulder such a grave responsibility. Thus, Simonro, Chief Ritualist of the God of Storms and Freedom and a fellow War God of equal clerical standing, was called upon to take over Violet's duties.
"Hyacinthus Auregia."
After proclaiming Hyacinthus's name, Chief Ritualist Simonro reverently opened the tome, his solemn voice ringing out across the square.
"Do you swear to uphold the laws of our ancestors, and as Emperor of the Creti Empire, assume the duty to govern this realm and protect its people?"
"I, Hyacinthus Auregia, swear upon my life and honor that I shall guard the Creti Empire with all my heart and soul—guarding every inch of its soil and every one of its people. My sword shall forever fight for justice; my heart shall forever beat for the people. The destiny of the Creti Empire is my destiny; the future of the Creti Empire is my future. From this day forth, unto eternity."
Hyacinthus's voice was firm and powerful, sounding like an oath, yet carrying the weight of a solemn promise.
"Can you, day and night, regardless of rank or birth, treat every subject of Creti with justice?"
"Are you willing, should Creti ever face danger, to step forward and forge the proof of a true leader with your life and honor?"
Question after question followed from Simonro, and the coronation proceeded in orderly fashion.
To every question, Hyacinthus replied in the most resolute tone.
Hyacinthus's voice seemed to transcend time and space, reaching beyond Brillda and even beyond Botswana Province into the hearts of every citizen of the Creti Empire.
Chief Ritualist Simonro closed the tome and turned to the crowd, calling out in a booming voice:
"People of Creti, do you acclaim Hyacinthus Auregia as your king, as the Emperor of the Creti Empire?"
"Your Majesty Hyacinthus!"
Earth-shaking roars erupted from the crowd. The voices of tens of thousands merged into the grandest symphony.
The roar echoed between heaven and earth, resounding in every corner of the capital, Brillda, carrying the heartfelt devotion of countless Cretians.
"Now, in the name of the ancestral heroic spirits and the people of Creti, I crown Hyacinthus Auregia as Emperor of the Creti Empire! May his reign endure, and may the Creti Empire flourish for eternity!"
Chief Ritualist Simonro turned to Hyacinthus and raised the crown, his voice carrying the inviolable weight of a divine decree.
The air was thick with festive fervor, and sunlight edged the scene in brilliant gold.
At that very moment, the sky suddenly brightened.
The heavens, veiled beneath clouds and drifting snow, seemed to part.
To the crowd, such an auspicious sign seemed to signify the gods blessing the birth of the Creti Empire's new emperor.
Just as total silence fell over the square and everyone held their breath to witness this sacred instant,
Simonro moved the crown steadily toward Hyacinthus.
In that instant, as if holy light were descending from the heavens to shine upon Hyacinthus,
a fissure abruptly tore open across the sky.
The rift was so deep and long that it threatened to split the heavens in two.
Surrounding clouds were torn apart, swirling rapidly into a vortex that converged into a colossal void.
A blinding white light spilled from the rift, illuminating the entirety of Creti Square.
The radiance was so piercing that no one could look at it directly.
People instinctively raised their arms to shield their eyes. The festive warmth in the air chilled in an instant; the cheers died away, supplanted by rising dread.
Smiles froze on the faces of the citizens, twisting into bewilderment and alarm.
The more skittish among them exchanged glances and whispered nervously, having no idea what was happening.
The sudden brightening of the sky had not been an illusion after all—something was descending.
An ominous premonition clung to them like a shadow.
Soon enough, they saw it.
Within that light, over a dozen figures slowly descended.
The intense radiance veiled their faces, leaving only indistinct silhouettes visible.
Yet even so, an extraordinary presence radiated from them.
Every one of these figures was draped in pure-white robes, like deities and angels.
And the leader among them resembled a pope, clad in the sole immaculate papal vestment, his face concealed behind a silver-white mask.
Tall and slender, every movement carried an innate majesty. An aura that harmonized seamlessly with the world wrapped around him, as though he were born to proclaim the gospel, destined to command the reverent gaze of the masses.
Though no one knew who they were, the attire of the leading white-robed figure made him look like an ancient religious patriarch or the head of some mysterious organization traversing time and space, instilling instinctive fear in the onlookers below.
The arrival of these uninvited guests instantly shifted the atmosphere across the entire square.
Chief Ritualist Simonro froze the coronation ceremony, while the nine War Gods across the memorial square turned wary eyes toward the intruders.
The War Gods had gathered here today precisely to handle any disturbance that might arise.
After the Blood Clan crisis three days ago, they had assumed peace was restored.
Now, it appeared an even more profound, terrifying force had descended.
The people of Brillda could not endure another ordeal like that.
Yet with Hyacinthus present, a sense of security remained.
Hyacinthus had become the mightiest powerhouse in the empire, perhaps across the entire Southern Continent today—the sole mortal to tread into the realm of gods. Even if the Blood Clan Progenitor were to return, the imperial citizens believed the ancient evil spirit would be obliterated beneath Hyacinthus's Syros Heroic Spirit Sword.
"..."
Hyacinthus ceased looking at the crown before him, turning his gaze toward the center of the square.
The stronger one was, the more clearly one could sense the aura emanating from those white-robed figures.
Such power left even the War Gods present slightly bewildered.
Third War God Gyath of the Sardonyx Seat furrowed his brows deeply.
Most of these people were powerhouses of at least Tier 8.
A few among them even felt comparable to the War Gods themselves.
Even on the frontlines against the allied armies, gathering so many world-class peak powerhouses in one place was almost impossible.
And if this truly were a gathering of allied champions appearing here today, they had undoubtedly infiltrated Brillda through long-laid plans, scheming something that could effortlessly imperil the entire capital.
Among the populace, panic and unease began to spread.
"Not again?!"
"I'm never coming out to see a spectacle again!"
"Get back, stay away!"
Crying out in shock, the imperial citizens instinctively tried to retreat from the square.
The terror from three days ago, still vivid in their minds, became an invisible hand clenching around every heart.
On the side of the stage near the imperial palace on Creti Memorial Square,
"May I ask what brings our distinguished guests here today?"
Hyacinthus never took his eyes off the uninvited guests. Anyone appearing here today was, without question, an enemy arriving to crash the event.
Yet with the civilians still nearby, it was not prudent for him to strike rashly.
He gripped the Syros Heroic Spirit Sword, the light upon its blade sharpening with lethal edge.
High above the center of the square, the leading white-robed figure did not answer immediately.
The white-robed pope merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze piercing from behind the mask as if seeing straight through Hyacinthus.
It was a look of judgment.
"Hyacinthus Auregia, mortal child of the Creti Empire seeking coronation, we have come summoned by divine oracle to bear witness to this moment,"
he spoke at last after a long pause.
"You are not the legitimate emperor. Relinquish the throne to the rightful heir of the Creti imperial line, and preserve the orderly functioning of this world."
The white-robed pope's words boomed like thunder across the square, shaking even the citizens retreating in the distance.
A divine oracle?
Which deity possessed such immense authority?
And why hand down an oracle at this very moment?
Amid the crowd, speculation and doubt wove into a dense web, anxious voices buzzing through the commotion.
Some tried to recall ancient prophecies, but for most, an unspeakable dread took root.
No matter how one looked at him, this white-robed pope didn't resemble any orthodox faith—he looked like the pope of an evil cult!
...
Meanwhile, across the allied nations, attention toward the Creti Empire's coronation skyrocketed.
The outdoor square at Ikerite Academy offered the most direct reflection of this frenzy.
The sudden turn of events instantly seized the attention of throngs of students and faculty.
Anyone walking by, even those who initially had no interest in following the Creti coronation, couldn't resist stopping in their tracks.
Even without checking, they knew viewership of the broadcast across the United Council of Kingdoms was about to explode exponentially!
To the imperial citizens, this twist brought panic.
Yet to the people of the allied nations, amidst the suspicion and fear lay a sliver of hope.
"Even if they're a mysterious faction of unknown allegiance, as long as they're willing to fight Hyacinthus, it's a good thing!"
the Ikerite students chimed in one after another.
They could even dare to dream: if both sides fought to mutual destruction, it would be an absolute godsend for the kingdom alliance.
The citizens of the allied nations had already grown exceedingly terrified of the sheer might wielded by Hyacinthus, that absolute powerhouse of the imperial faction.
Just as the white-robed pope had said, it was a terrifying imbalance. If Hyacinthus chose to slaughter his way from the south all the way to the north, no one could truly stand in his way.
Luweixier snapped completely alert, her lazy eyelids flying open.
Her journalistic radar was buzzing furiously.
On the screen, the broadcast continued.
In the air near the commoners' side of Creti Memorial Square,
behind the white-robed pope, the other cultists stared down the War Gods.
That terrifying oppression weighed down on the fleeing imperial citizens with unprecedented pressure.
They had thought that the Twelve War Gods gathered in one place represented the absolute zenith of the Creti Empire's military might; never had they imagined a nameless faction possessing an unknown number of Tier 8 powerhouses would appear.
The unknown, once reaching a certain threshold, transformed into raw terror.
The pressure bore down like an invisible boulder, suffocating everyone outside the square.
This enigmatic white-robed pope had dropped an astounding bombshell, demanding that Hyacinthus surrender the throne to the so-called "legitimate heir"!
"Why does Your Excellency consider me illegitimate?"
Hyacinthus asked the white-robed man in an unhurried manner, biding time while Simonro reinforced the barrier around Creti Memorial Square and the citizens fled as far away as possible.
Though he already wanted to dispatch these charlatans disrupting his ceremony as swiftly as possible—and wanted even more to slice and dice those nuisance civilians into ribbons—the persona he had maintained for so long forbade him from acting out.
What a nuisance.
"Hyacinthus, you are not truly a man who loves peace. You have played no small part in fueling the flames of the war across the Southern Continent. Your absolute power and absolute authority will disrupt the balance of the entire world, posing a catastrophic threat to all the nations in the northern reaches of the Southern Continent,"
the white-robed pope continued.
"Your accusation is rather arbitrary. Everything I have done has been for the prosperity and stability of the Creti Empire. I would never commit any act harmful to my people,"
Hyacinthus stated as if speaking to himself, watching the direction in which the civilians were rapidly retreating under the Royal Guards' evacuation.
His breezy, nonchalant manner made it seem as though he did not consider these visitors much of a threat.
Right now, he was merely constrained by the civilians and could not strike indiscriminately.
And the other side seemed to have calculated this precisely, holding him in check.
The party holding the moral high ground was always the one whose actions were restricted, while the unscrupulous could act with utter ruthlessness.
"Hyacinthus..."
Seeing Hyacinthus's poise, the other War Gods felt their tension ease slightly.
Had this been the night of the Blood Clan's raid, the threat of these white-robed cultists might have been insurmountable.
Yet now, with a Tier 9 Hyacinthus present along with the remaining ten War Gods, no matter how formidable these figures were, there was nothing to fear.
"Humanity always imagines the future, yet that future is something that ought to inspire dread. Most people do not fear it, however, because they cannot comprehend what lies behind it,"
the white-robed pope said, his gaze behind the mask as placid as still water.
"Under your absolute rule, the world will achieve neither a relative balance nor a balance of terror. You will bring only war and ruin."
He spoke from the detached perspective of an observer outside the mortal world.
"If you insist on causing trouble, then for the sake of the people of the Creti Empire, I will wipe you out."
Having confirmed via a glance at Simonro that the temporary barrier was reinforced, Hyacinthus finally released his hostile intent, no longer bothering with words for the sake of the fleeing populace.
Just then, something caught all the War Gods off guard.
Tenth War God Julius of the Rubellite Seat suddenly summoned a heavy cannon, aiming it straight at the white-robed pope in midair.
Scorching black-and-crimson energy coalesced inside the barrel, distorting the air with blistering heat.
He was the first to strike!
A blinding beam pierced skyward from the cannon, hurtling directly toward the white-robed pope. The deafening roar of artillery shook the ground from the sheer recoil.
Civilians beyond the barrier had no time to react; by the time their vision caught up, the blast had already fired.
The Rubellite Seat had always been the most decisive War God, known to fire match-deciding blows on the battlefield without signaling his allies!
"Julius! What if you hurt the civilians?!"
Twelfth War God Bianca of the Cat's Eye Seat cried out in shock.
Fortunately, having sensed the shift in Julius's aura, she had anticipated his move.
Julius was unleashing what was essentially his ultimate attack: a compressed magic-energy beam cannon.
Yet before she could finish scolding Julius, the spectacle in the sky choked the words in her throat.
The white-robed pope didn't dodge or evade—he didn't even make a defensive motion.
He simply hung suspended in midair, allowing the searing beam to hurtle straight toward him.
The beam split in two right before the pope, as though deflected by an invisible barrier.
The two divergent beams grazed past his flanks, shooting off into the distant sky before dissipating into the clouds.
Throughout the entire process, the white-robed pope remained utterly motionless.
He hadn't invoked any spell, radiating not the slightest ripple of mana, yet he had effortlessly thwarted Julius's full-power strike.
For a moment, Julius stared wide-eyed in stunned disbelief.
The heavy cannon in his hands was still steaming, but his body had frozen entirely.
He gazed in utter incredulity at the unscathed white-robed pope in the sky, as though he had never witnessed someone tank his heavy cannon head-on and emerge completely unharmed.
At that instant, the other War Gods realized the gravity of the situation, having no time to fault Julius for his rash preemptive strike.
None knew the lethality of Julius's full-power assault better than they; specializing in burst output, that strike was something none among them would dare take head-on without moving a muscle.
Julius cast a grave, vigilant glance toward Hyacinthus, Saron, and Gyath.
Perhaps in his eyes, an enemy of such bizarre caliber required at least the top three War Gods to handle.
"..."
Gyath pretended not to see it; he had no desire to challenge an enemy shrouded in unknowns without good reason.
At the very least, he had yet to understand the principle behind how the white-robed figure had deflected Julius's attack.
If there had been spellcasting or mana fluctuation, it would have been easy to explain—
it would mean the opponent had used an evasion, defense, or even immunity-type item.
Yet from what appeared, the defensive method resembled none of those. There were only two possible explanations: either it was an ultra-high-tier defensive spell whose trigger escaped everyone's observation—though even an Epic-tier ability would have limit charges—or the man was simply terrifyingly strong, possessing defenses so incomprehensible that Gyath would hardly be able to scratch him.
Saron gripped his hilt, shifting to an active forward grip.
Confronted with such a formidable opponent, he was itching to test his blade.
Moreover, Saron's eyes had practically pierced through the opponent's entire aura, mana flow, and potential evasion vectors. What he saw was a body riddled with openings, standing defenseless as if waiting to be struck at will.
Yet bizarrely, this uncanny foe gave him the paradoxical impression of having no flaws at all, as though striking anywhere would prove completely useless.
As for Hyacinthus, he maintained his breezy, unruffled facade.
Yet his hand on the sword had quietly tightened, veins bulging on his knuckles.
"Interesting,"
he muttered under his breath, his fiery gaze locked onto the white-robed pope.
From the moment this meddler arrived, Hyacinthus had wanted to test his blade on him.
He had merely been holding back, enduring for so long only to uphold his tiresome image and accommodate the safety of those foolish commoners. Even if he wished to slaughter them, he had to wait until he took total power, then butcher them at his leisure for amusement.
Across Brillda, every corner reached by the broadcast was gripped by a suffocating tension.
At this juncture, a clash seemed unavoidable.
Fine snow fluttered down.
"O War Gods, the world you behold now is neither real nor complete, for you look upon it with eyes wide open. From now on, you must learn to see the world with your eyes closed,"
the white-robed pope spoke with a touch of regret on the broadcast, showing no anger at Julius's sneak attack, nor abruptly launching a catastrophic war of annihilation.
Yet the white-robed followers behind him were already glaring at the War Gods with undisguised hostility.
This put immense pressure on the War Gods.
If they struck again,
the cohort behind the white-robed pope would surely engage as well.
A war unleashed by twenty Tier 8 combatants—
that would no longer be a disturbance on the scale of the Day of Cleansing. In a full-blown free-for-all, catastrophe could spread from the capital, Brillda, culminating in the destruction of the kingdom-sized Botswana Province in mere hours.
"Enough,"
Hyacinthus's voice was gentle, yet it rang with unquestionable majesty.
"If you insist on endangering Brillda, then allow me to teach you what that entails."
The moment the words fell, Hyacinthus firmly grasped the hilt of the Syros Heroic Spirit Sword.
"I originally intended to observe the empire for a while longer, but now I must step in to stop you,"
the white-robed pope said, watching the reinforced, super-tier barrier settle over Creti Memorial Square, stating his greatest concession to Hyacinthus:
"For one hour, so long as you do not strike, I will not strike. Allow the nearby residents to evacuate and clear the battlefield for us,"
he stated with benevolence.
"Are you challenging me?"
Hyacinthus let out a rare laugh.
Why don't I just slaughter all of you?
he asked silently, his amused, mocking gaze questioning the intruder. If one wished to hold him hostage using civilian safety and threaten him, one needed power capable of actually threatening him first.
Hyacinthus wanted to show every citizen of Brillda that his power was absolute. He had no need to compromise; he could lead the War Gods to wipe out every last intruder, concluding the fight without endangering Brillda's safety in the slightest.
This was the exact moment to demonstrate his absolute dominance to all!
In the next second, divine-era silver radiance burst from the scabbard, illuminating the entire heavens.
The glare seemed as if tens of thousands of stars were blazing in unison, instantly devouring the dark clouds above the square and turning the sky as bright as day. Thunderous rumblings rumbled in the distance, shaking the entire city-state of Brillda to its foundations.
In an instant, heaven and earth shifted color.
The cloud-veiled sky was abruptly cleaved open by an invisible colossal blade. Along the rift's edges, space warped, as though time and space themselves lost their laws beneath this strike.
The moment Hyacinthus drew the Syros Heroic Spirit Sword, the mere gathering of energy under this Tier 9 pressure made all enemies appear trivial and frail.
The air turned thick and oppressive, rendering every breath across the city of Brillda an arduous struggle.
Like an invisible hand, even civilians far beyond the barrier could not escape the horror of this force.
And under Hyacinthus's impending slash, any enemy would be reduced to ash!
The other War Gods blanched in an instant.
Just the ambient sword intent saturating the barrier made their skin prickle, their blood run backward, and their internal organs shudder violently.
Saron gripped his hilt tightly.
Only someone like him, who had reached the pinnacle of Tier 8, truly understood how vast the gulf was between this power and the Tier 8 realm—and how utterly out of reach it was.
The peak Tier 9 slash tore through the heavens, aimed straight at the white-robed pope and his followers, intending to shred them to pieces!
The air shrieked under the weight of the blow. Wherever the sword light swept, buildings and statues were as fragile as paper, instantly reduced to dust.
Countless sword rays split from the primary blade aura, forming a dense web of sword shadows that enveloped the white-robed pope and his followers.
Every War God present instinctively raised their defenses; even though the slash was not aimed at them, they were certain that any carelessness would leave them wounded by the aftershocks!
This time, the white-robed pope finally acted.
Beneath his mask, he seemed to chuckle, or perhaps he was muttering something.
Yet in this blank instant of absolute silence, no one could decipher what he was chanting.
Time seemed to accelerate in an instant as overwhelming torrents of silver luminescence converged, descending from the sky to engulf their figures!
Amid the quiet, snow-covered Creti Memorial Square erupted in a deafening crash like a thousand claps of thunder. In that very instant, wind whipped across the whole of Brillda.
Just as Hyacinthus stared indifferently at everything being submerged in the distance,
his eyes suddenly flickered.
And the expressions of the other War Gods were instantly overtaken by sheer shock, falling into high-alert stances.
They could hardly believe this person would appear here!
The entire downtown district of Brillda was swallowed by an abrupt tempest, shuddering as though creation itself were being cleaved anew!
The gust began as a tiny vortex, yet in a split second it swelled into a gale powerful enough to sweep away all of creation.
Before this furious wind magic, all attacks—even the Tier 9 slash Hyacinthus had unleashed—became as flimsy as scraps of paper, easily scattered into nothingness.
The sun rose over the city-state, like sweet dew raining down.
That soul-striking majesty embodied the very force that shaped all things. Divine-era radiance played across the white-robed pope. He dictated the motion of the clouds and reshaped the sky; the force piercing the heavens was the distinct breath of wind. As the breeze swept softly over the earth, the falling snow froze in midair, then soared upward against gravity!
The sky lit up in that moment, the clouds over Brillda thoroughly blown away.
In legends since antiquity, the Wind God commanded the directions of the wind; his voice was a gentle whisper, yet also an edict of thunderous finality.
And the figure at the vortex's core was none other than the deity governing the wind.
This simple clash had not harmed him in the least, much less the residents behind him.
Only the howling gale caused his mask to slip loose and fall away.
"You seem to be slightly mistaken, so allow me to clarify."
The wind stirred the hair across Loren's forehead, obscuring one of his eyes, leaving only a single azure pupil blazing brilliantly.
"Hyacinthus, you are the challenger."
Pointing a finger at Hyacinthus, he spoke without concealing his wild arrogance any longer.
Beyond the screen:
"Holy shit, Loren!!"
In an instant, the entirety of Ikerite Academy erupted into an uproar, and tremors of roaring shouts burst from rooftops across every quarter of the royal capital, Ikerite.
The face on the screen was none other than their High Priest!
Especially for the students of Ikerite Academy, there was nothing they loved more than watching High Priest Loren pull off something monumental!
In this single instant, the haze of war was swept away. Students and teachers across the outdoor square leaped to their feet from the steps in jubilant celebration, waving their hands or pumping their fists in thunderous roars.
Chapter 847