"How long do you think they'll last?"
A silver-haired knight, clad in gleaming silver armor that matched his composed expression, responded calmly. His aura suggested he was far from ordinary.
"Judging by their zeal… I'd wager they're worse than the emperor's palace guards. I'd say three hours, tops."
Another warrior, a towering man with a muscular physique and deep scars etched into his face, retorted in a booming voice. His appearance alone spoke volus of his lifeti spent in fierce battles.
"Three hours? You're being generous. I'd say they won't last even half of that."
"Don't forget they're wielding holy swords," the silver knight countered. "Have you spent so much ti wandering the plains that you've lost your sense for quality?"
"Hah! What good is a tool in the hands of amateurs like them? Holy sword or not, I'd give it two hours at most," the towering warrior scoffed.
A wiry, red-haired elder chid in, his tone flippant and unserious. "You're all clueless. It's been too long since you've faced an otherworldly god. I'm betting it won't even take an hour."
As they bantered, Michael paid little attention, his focus locked on the god wearing the emperor's guise. Behind him, a lively wager orchestrated by Miaomiao was underway.
[I'll bet one hour, ow.]
[Then I'll follow your lead and bet an hour as well, sister.]
[Oh, co on! They may be hopeless, but surely they'll last at least an hour and thirty minutes. That's my bet.]
As Miaomiao, Marcus, and Behemoth traded bets, more magical beasts began to gather, drawn by the commotion. Enamored with Miaomiao's business acun, they had recently convinced their masters to give them allowances, which they were now eagerly wagering.
Miaomiao eyed the growing pile of gold with greedy satisfaction. To her, this fight was hopelessly one-sided.
Oblivious to being reduced to the subject of casual betting, the god let out a boisterous laugh at the approaching "hounds of Radiance."
"Hah! Still charging in like a pack of rabid dogs, I see. Your thods and those of your subordinates haven't changed a bit."
At the head of the Radiant Expedition, Alejandro—the Pope's nephew—brandished the sacred sword gifted by the church. He raised his voice with fervent zeal.
"Attack as one! In the na of Radiance!"
The sacred sword glead with a divine light, one of the few true relics remaining in the world. Yet the Pope hadn't bestowed it with the intent of actual combat; it was a prop ant to lend authority to their opportunistic endeavors.
The sight of the sword montarily wiped the smirk off the god's face. While the weapon was unlikely to harm him given who wielded it, he had no desire to take unnecessary risks, especially considering the warriors lurking behind the paladins.
Above all, he dreaded the idea of capture. The mory of centuries spent imprisoned was still fresh.
As the battle began, a paladin who had been shielding Alejandro leapt forward, only to be hurled into the air by the god's black aura. Blood splattered, and the lifeless body of the paladin crashed into the center of the courtyard.
Alejandro faltered, fear gripping him as he froze in place. anwhile, the other paladins, unaware of their commander's hesitation, pressed their attack with fervor. Swords and spears glead as hymns of Radiance rang out.
Watching from afar, a golden-haired mage with sharp eyes sighed. "Tsk. They're going about this all wrong. Whoever's leading them clearly has no experience in god-hunting."
Her expression was one of sheer boredom, as if itching to jump into the fray herself.
Beside her, a black-haired swordswoman, arms crossed, nodded in agreent. "For once, I agree. They're a ss. If soone like that were under my command, I'd have executed them long ago."
"Well, it's not like we expected better. Those paladins are as stagnant as they co," the mage replied with a shrug, her voice tinged with exasperation.
Regardless of their critiques, the battle continued. Hovering above the fray, the god surveyed the paladins with amusent, his form cloaked in writhing black mist. The oppressive aura radiating from him seed to weigh down the air itself.
Finally, Alejandro signaled the paladins to halt, realizing their charge was little more than a suicidal frenzy. Whether motivated by strategy or self-preservation, he retreated behind the safety of his troops, who ford a shield wall before him.
"Advance!" Alejandro commanded the frontmost paladins, ensuring his own safety before sending them forward. Among them was the sa elderly paladin who had earlier warned against this folly.
The veteran let out a resigned sigh as he gripped his sword and shield tightly, stepping forward with the others. Despite his misgivings, he had no choice but to fight.
The god, however, remained utterly unbothered. His lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with mockery. A few low-ranking paladins, no matter their numbers, posed no threat to him. He feared only the continent's true champions—not the futile swarm of minnows before him.
"Co, then. Let's see how desperately you struggle," he sneered.
The god's antagonism toward the Radiant Kingdom stemd from centuries of bitter mories. While it would have been safer to feign resistance and flee, he couldn't resist the urge to exact vengeance on these self-righteous hounds.
One paladin managed to close the distance, shouting, "Coward! If you're so confident in your strength, co down and face us, you wretched pawn of evil!"
The god chuckled at the paladin's clichéd taunts, but he obliged. Dispelling the black mist beneath his feet, he descended to the ground.
As he landed, the shouting paladin charged with a shield imbued with holy power, hoping to force the god back. These shields, crafted by the church, were designed specifically to counter otherworldly auras.
Yet the paladin's hope was shattered in an instant. With a casual swipe of the god's hand, cracks splintered across the shield's surface. In the next mont, it shattered into countless fragnts.
"So, this is the 'sacred shield' you're so proud of? Seems like your craftsmanship has regressed," the god mocked, his voice dripping with disdain.
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