The fires of war scorched all of Ruen, and the intermittent explosions filled the citizens cowering in their hos with dread. Whether by coincidence or design, the districts with heavy concentrations of ard forces suffered the most ferocious attacks, while ordinary residential streets were left relatively untouched.
Ruen's churches were also in motion. Their Enchanters had sward out, deploying across the city. Aside from a few powerful individuals, the average combat strength of the shadowy figures wasn't high, but their sheer numbers and ability to fly made dealing with them a considerable hassle.
As expected, Ruen would once again be on the front page of every nation's newspapers by morning. And for the ten demigods stationed here, the trouble was only just beginning.
High above Ruen, a thin layer of clouds veiled the fire-ravaged city below. Above the clouds, seven demigod Enchanters from the Church, free from the need to protect the city directly, ford a semicircle, facing off against a single individual.
The man was clad in a black robe, holding a clay tablet in his right hand. A colossal black figure hovered behind him, radiating an aura of discomfort that unsettled everyone present.
This standoff had begun the mont Alexia and the others boarded the mine cart, yet no one dared to make the first move.
To the seven from the Church, the man before them was undoubtedly the true culprit behind the night's chaos. The massive black shadow at his back had to be the most powerful of the phantoms attacking the city. The man's sinister aura was deeply unsettling. Though he appeared human, he gave off the faint, yet distinct, impression of being a Cursed Item.
Therefore, the Church's demigods refrained from acting rashly. They were waiting for their three colleagues, who were currently cleaning up the ss in the city, to finish their tasks so they could all strike together.
As for the man facing seven opponents, he certainly didn't dare to confront seven systematically trained demigods. All of this was simply a waiting ga. The goal of tonight's operation wasn't about how many people were killed, but about...
He lowered his gaze to the five circular depressions on the clay tablet in his hand. The topmost indentation was already fitted with half of a black gemstone.
"Everything is for the greater good!"
The glow of the fires stained the night sky red. It was a night destined to be sleepless for all. Beneath the silent heavens lay a clamorous Ruen, while in the sky above, eight figures watched each other without a word.
The colossal black shadow was the most active among them. It tried several tis to move away from the man holding the tablet, but each ti it strayed more than three feet from him, it was repelled by a flash of golden light.
This was a technique employed by the demigods of the Orthodox Church. Its original purpose was to prevent their battle in the sky from affecting the city below, but its practical effect, during this strategic stalemate of 'I won't move if you don't,' was to ensure that neither side could interfere with the situation on the ground through other ans.
Mr. Rossiel of the Sage Church was, of course, one of the seven in the sky, and currently, he was the most relaxed of them all. Aside from an occasional glance at the pitch-black outskirts of Ruen behind him, his attention remained fixed on the city below, his heart untroubled by the tedious standoff.
"He's finally here!"
A brilliant golden light erupted from the mountains behind them, like a sunrise breaking over the horizon. Mr. Rossiel's heart leaped with joy as he, along with the others who were baffled by the developnt, turned to look.
The golden radiance, which had blazed forth from the darkest, snow-capped peaks, reached them in an instant. There stood Saint Jenkins, his expression solemn, dressed in a white robe. He held a holy book in one hand and a scepter in the other.
But this was no ordinary scepter forged from divine power, symbolizing his status as a Saint. It looked more like a staff of vines, ford by three tendrils spiraling and twisting together into a single shaft.
It wasn't perfectly straight; its curved shape closely resembled a small tree. An erald brilliance and a fluorescent glow coiled around the scepter, though they were mostly obscured by the golden divine light emanating from the Saint's body.
His eyes, shimring with a faint purple light, fixed on his opponent. Jenkins's gaze lingered for a second on the clay tablet in the stranger's hands before he shifted the scepter into a horizontal grip across his chest.
With a soft grunt, a green ring of light appeared at his feet. At the sa ti, the horizontally held scepter began to radiate an erald luster.
Empowered by his new weapon, his Soul Emblem expanded in an instant to cover the entire city. The power of his Saint form flowed ceaselessly into the scepter, and when the energy reached its zenith, Jenkins rotated the weapon ninety degrees with one hand and slamd it down at his feet.
Though there was nothing but air beneath him, everyone heard the distinct sound of roots burrowing into soil. With this action, an explosive green shockwave swept through the city, riding the expansion of the enormous, circular Soul Emblem.
Wherever the power of life and divinity passed, the shadows instantly exploded into black mist and dissipated. As for the wounded, so long as they still drew breath, their injuries began to slowly heal. While this burst of power couldn't bring back the dead, it at least ensured that no more lives would be lost.
The citizens looked up to the heavens, seeing only a hazy moonlit sky and a few faint points of light. Among them, a single purple star shone with particular brilliance. Jenkins slowly exhaled. The green halo at his feet receded, and the divine luster around him dimd to a faint glimr, drained by the imnse expenditure of power.
The demigods bowed to him in unison, a gesture of respect. They all recognized the nature of the power he had just wielded.
"But is a Saint's power truly this imnse?"
Of course, such doubts arose, but none of the demigods present had ever witnessed a Saint in a state of peak combat, so the question remained unspoken in their minds.
"Was this operation divined ahead of ti? I never expected Ruen to have one of the Church's Saints. The Orthodox Church is not to be underestimated, indeed."
The man holding the tablet remarked, his expression unchanged, as if the complete annihilation of the shadows in the city ant nothing to him. He glanced at the black gemstone embedded in the tablet; though still incomplete, it had at least t the minimum requirents.
"No," Jenkins replied. "I wasn't dispatched here in advance. I simply haven't had the chance to leave after the anomaly in the far north. You've chosen a rather inconvenient ti."
As Jenkins spoke, the power of the Saint could now barely sustain his flight and obscure his face. That last move, while spectacular, had consud far too much spirit.
"If I'm not mistaken, you're with the Tree House, aren't you?"
At his question, the man with the tablet furrowed his brow slightly:
"So, it seems we've been exposed after all."
In truth, nothing had been exposed. Jenkins had simply asked the mory on the altar a few questions before leaving the underground chamber. So answers he could share, others he could not. The most crucial information was related to the Misfortune Poem. Acquiring this ability was not a secret, as it wasn't a Savior's Emblem, so the mory had revealed all its secrets to Jenkins.
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