The lawn churned and squirmed as vines slithered and darted through, dragging severed corpses and mangled fragments deep beneath the earth.
Wayne wiped away non-existent sweat from his forehead. The Book of Greed broke its locked gaze with the Nature eyeball, and the Nature-infused information immediately receded from his body, restoring his magic power to its original pure white.
Wayne only knew basic magic—the most basic kind.
He had never studied the magic of the Church of Nature, and even if he learned their incantations, he wouldn't be able to cast them.
His mature teacher had once explained that these incantations were stamped by faith, exclusive spells inherited by the Church of Nature that could only be cast by believers of the Goddess of Nature.
Without believing in the Goddess of Nature, Wayne had unleashed Nature magic with the aid of the Book of Greed. Furthermore, he hadn't used any incantation formulas in the process; relying purely on his mind—the "Self" within the hexagram—he had manifested the magical effect he desired in the physical world.
Feeding it with immense magic power to accelerate the wild growth of greenery, then shaping it with his mind—straightforward, brutal, and effective.
In this process, the Book of Greed was the cheat tool, the mind was the driving core, and magic power was the lever that moved reality.
All three were indispensable. Without any one of them, Wayne would never have been able to cast wide-area Nature magic.
When all was said and done, the Book of Greed was still the most critical factor.
First, the Book of Greed granted Wayne authorization to bypass faith and cast Nature magic directly.
Second, the Book of Greed had bestowed upon Wayne a life essence unimaginable to ordinary people, allowing him to endlessly plunder the four elements. Replenished by massive amounts of the four elements, both his magic reserves and mental strength had reached astonishing levels.
"Cheating really is the best!"
Wayne muttered under his breath. Looking over the devastated lawn, he pondered for a moment before saying, "Butler, how many more of those 'civilian items resembling landmines' do we still have? If there's any left in stock, please bury some more..."
"Molotov cocktails too. Fire is extremely effective against the evil spirits of the Church of the Earth's Core. The more, the better."
Fra indicated it was no problem at all; there was plenty of stock left in the warehouse. With that, he directed the two maids to get to work immediately.
The maid on the roof, holding her sniper rifle, continued her sentry duties, ready to sound the alarm the moment any stranger approached.
Wayne brought out his binoculars and looked toward the giant tentacles hovering over the town. Preparing for the worst, he assumed Isabella was done for, the townsfolk had all been parasitized, and a massive wave of infected mutants was about to descend upon them.
"Goddess above, let's hope it doesn't come to that..."
Wayne murmured softly. He was softhearted by nature and couldn't bear to see rivers of blood—dragging Bishop Kent underground and popping him like a bubble had been done out of that very consideration.
If he couldn't see it, he could crush them all day; seeing it made him uncomfortable and weighed on his conscience.
By the same token, Wayne was hardly looking forward to a huge wave of infected stepping onto the lawn. This wasn't a game; those were real human lives.
Wayne wrestled with whether he should head into town to help. Maybe Isabella just needed someone to deliver the finishing blow, and his arrival could serve as unexpected reinforcements falling from the sky.
On second thought, better not. For all he knew, Isabella and the Church of the Earth's Core were evenly matched, or she might even have a slight edge. But if he showed up, that balance might instantly tip, giving the church the upper hand instead.
Weighing his options repeatedly, Wayne abandoned the idea of providing support. The villa's mansion was his home turf, backed by the butler and the two maids—three battlefield veterans. It offered solid positions for both offense and defense. There was no reason to throw away his advantage and risk his life running onto someone else's territory.
* * *
At the headquarters of the Church of the Earth's Core, the cross suppressed the hexagram.
Disrupting the hexagram's operation from within severed the material composition of the four elements—earth, fire, water, and wind. The most visible result was that the projection of the hexagram high in the sky grew dim, and the tentacles that had already materialized faded into translucent phantoms.
Having achieved their objective, the five mages had completed their mission, but they did not rush to Isabella's aid immediately. Instead, they held their posts, guarding against any sudden counterattack from the King of the Underworld.
All five were seasoned veterans. When it came to cracking down on cults, they were true professionals—snuffing out every possibility and resolutely denying cultists any chance of retaliation.
As for whether Isabella could finish her task, none of the five had ever doubted it.
* * *
At one corner of the hexagram, the chicken farm that represented "Void."
In the dark abyss, blue motes of light pulsed in sync with the flare of fire.
The ceaseless explosions and flames made the King of the Underworld suffer miserably. Fire was its nemesis; the slightest touch caused its flesh to combust rapidly. To save itself, it severed its burning body like a lizard dropping its tail, its size shrinking at a rate visible to the naked eye.
Its main body, which was supposed to arrive as promised, was nowhere to be seen, nor did its children answer its call. Severing itself could only delay death, not extinguish the flames. Before long, left with nothing more to shed, it would be burned to ashes.
The King of the Underworld struggled, but in vain. As evident from its terrifying reproductive capability, it was not suited for combat, relying instead on sheer numbers to ensure the survival of its kind.
Archbishop Yvon, the only one capable of saving it, was currently locked in a stalemate.
In terms of magical attainments, Archbishop Yvon had taken up magic halfway through life—a rogue hedge wizard through and through, not even fit to carry Isabella's shoes. Yet relying on an eldritch, cockroach-like physical resilience, he was barely managing to fight Isabella to a draw.
Isabella handled the offense, while Yvon absorbed the punishment.
The former spent mana without losing health, while the latter lost neither mana nor health. Looked at this way, Yvon had great odds of winning—it was he who held the upper hand.
Yet Yvon was currently in terrible shape. Perhaps because his brain had been stripped away, his judgment had plummeted, and his reflexes were far slower than before.
His consciousness had successfully nested within the tangle of tentacles; he wasn't dead, barely clinging to life.
Yet that was all. Yvon's mind was severely corrupted. He had completely lost the ability to speak and forgotten how to cast magic. His attacks relied entirely on physical instinct, rampaging wildly with the sole desire to reach Isabella and devour her, absorbing her into himself.
As one could imagine, unless Isabella had a death wish, Yvon could chase her for a lifetime and never hope to brush against the hem of her clothes.
A low, agonizing screech echoed through the dark abyss. The King of the Underworld was reduced to ash by the flames, never managing to see its children before it died.
The sacrifice had failed; the grand scheme of the Church of the Earth's Core had fallen apart completely.
Yvon was consumed with fury. Fissures split open across the white mass of flesh, revealing a pale maw bristling with writhing tentacle-fangs.
"Roaaar—"
He roared toward the heavens, indignant yet helpless.
In stark contrast stood Isabella, moving with consummate ease. The round lady kept a cold expression from start to finish. Her bloated figure did nothing to impede her speed; the wind seemed to carry her feet, as if she were fitted with springs.
Vines wove into a net, confining Yvon and locking him down. White flesh oozed outward, slipping through the gaps between the vines before reforming. The mass of white flesh let out a meaningless howl and slammed headlong into the wall.
Yvon's mind had been assimilated by the tentacles, his Sanity reduced to zero; his current movements were purely unconscious. He didn't even realize he should attack Isabella, fixating instead on the wall before him as though it were his mortal enemy.
Isabella watched in silence, waiting for the mass of white flesh to destroy itself.
Just then, a flash of golden light erupted. The golden idol in the center of the square suddenly disintegrated, and a vast mental will surged into the mass of white flesh, taking over the empty husk.
The flesh squirmed, gradually morphing into a two-meter-tall humanoid tentacle monstrosity...
The legendary mage had returned—his mental will broke free from the Astral Realm and returned to the God-favored Continent!
Isabella was utterly shocked. Stirring up a surging wave of magic, she braced herself on high alert.
She couldn't understand why the mad legendary mage would defy his instincts to return to the God-favored Continent. The sacrificial ritual had clearly failed; what could possibly remain in Enrold Town to catch his attention?
"What is it...?"
"What could have caused the legendary mage's mad mind to regain its sanity?"
Chapter 53