The great fire spewing from the dragon seed to ignite in an instant, casting a red glow on the side of Jenkins's face and temporarily scattering the dense fog.
"Criminal? Oh, Mr. Writer, you don't actually believe those stories in your books, where 'justice triumphs over evil,' really happen in the real world, do you?"
Pomphey's voice dripped with sarcasm. He failed to recognize that the man before him was soone he had t more than once.
"But today, at least, you are dood to fail."
"No, I will succeed,"
Pomphey murmured, raising the whistle to his lips.
"Because I am the protagonist of this stage!"
He blew a shrill, distorted note, and the roaring blaze of the burning trees beca its accompanint. In the background, the dragon whipped its tail, colliding with the giant's fist. A black shadow swept across the sky, montarily obscuring their view.
But Jenkins could see everything. In the heart of the burning forest, Pomphey was being lifted higher and higher by a skeletal steed that had appeared beneath him. Bone armor with a tallic sheen materialized over his body, extending even to the skeletal horse, encasing it in grotesque mail.
A helm enclosed his head, its faceplate emblazoned with the shape of an inverted ankh. The armor covering his arms looked light and flexible, and in his right hand, he summoned that terrifying sword from thin air.
Ashen soulfire wreathed the man as the horse's hooves stamped impatiently on the soft earth. When the dragon's tail swept past again, the armored, fla-shrouded knight on horseback stood revealed before Jenkins.
The trees crackled as they burned, the crimson light reflecting off the two figures—one bare-handed in a simple shirt, the other on horseback in full armor. Their shadows stretched far into the distance, swaying wildly with the dance of the flas.
"I have never felt so powerful,"
Pomphey's voice, even through the faceplate, clearly cut through the sounds of wind, fire, and dragon roars.
"And no one has ever dared to stand before like this."
Jenkins's heart was about to pound out of his chest. He didn't need to fight to know he stood no chance of winning. Having rged with so many numbered items in such a short ti, the Skull Sword could barely contain its own power.
A terrible black smoke coiled around the blade. The sheer pressure it exuded was almost as overwhelming as what a much weaker Jenkins had felt on that rainy late-sumr night, facing the statue of the "Lord of Myriad Brilliance".
Of course, the sword did not yet possess the might of a god, but for now, the mortals of the material world could only gaze up at it in awe. If Jenkins still had his divinity, he could have easily taught the man and his sword a lesson in any number of ways. But he had spent the last of it on "The Unrecordable Gun" to avenge Chocolate.
"That whistle and that horse are mine,"
he reminded Pomphey.
"I know. That's why I'll find a suitable burial place for you."
Pomphey raised his sword, and even the power of the Evergreen Forest could not stop the blow he was about to unleash. A black, crescent-shaped blade of energy swept through everything, and the power of death completely corroded the land beneath them.
Trees toppled, and a five-foot-deep trench was torn into the earth. The gray mist was utterly dispersed by the blade, and the aftershock even knocked down all the undead and humans fighting nearby.
But for the mont, no Enchanter had fallen, because Jenkins had blocked the brunt of the attack.
As the smoke cleared and the wind rushed in again, Jenkins was hovering in the air above the trench, his clothes having mysteriously transford into pristine white ceremonial robes.
A grand and sacred golden light emanated from his body. The holy emblem of the Sage was emblazoned on the chest of his robes. He held a book of unknown origin in his left arm and a golden scepter in his right. The scepter was wreathed in a spiral of divine runes, yet they paled in comparison to the brilliant ring on Jenkins's finger.
The top of the scepter was adorned with a holy angel with outstretched arms, but the angel itself seed less sacred than the one who wielded it.
Jenkins's face and form were unchanged, but the new attire and accessories had inexplicably bestowed upon him an aura of sanctity and benevolence. Though they were just simple cloth shoes and a linen robe, they looked as if they were worn by a legendary saint descended to the mortal realm.
The mont he appeared, the world seed to fall silent. Pomphey, the dragon, the Enchanters, the forest—everything seed to be watching Jenkins.
He opened his mouth, just as confused as anyone else about what had just happened. He had been planning to endure the hit with his "Undying Man" ability, but then a sudden surge of power erupted from a warm spot on his forehead, and he found himself transford.
The next second, the sounds of the world rushed back in—the crackling of flas, the heavy thud of collapsing trees, and unexplained explosions pulled everyone back to reality.
"The Saint's Blessing Form... the Church of the Sage was indeed prepared,"
the dragon Nidhogg roared in a clumsy common tongue, then charged like a cannonball toward the skeletal giant once more. The giant crashed through a large swath of trees with a deafening roar.
The ground trembled again, but it had no effect on the airborne Jenkins. He had never heard of a "Saint's Blessing Form," but judging by the na, being a Saint chosen and blessed by a Righteous God clearly ca with more perks than just "dwelling with God after death."
The Skull Sword's attack had temporarily cleared the fog from half the forest. The Enchanters from the five major churches could now see the situation clearly and began to gather, moving closer to the burning grove.
The golden light radiating from Jenkins protected them; the undead could not harm the humans behind him.
"The Saint's Blessing Form..."
Pomphey, in his undead knight state, repeated the phrase. Jenkins couldn't see his expression through the full helm, but his tone betrayed more surprise than confusion.
"This isn't right. Antak promised I would be the protagonist today."
His voice carried clearly to Jenkins's ears and to those of the surrounding Enchanters. Though he was once again using the power of his Stage Maze, he didn't seem to care about exposing Duke Antak's involvent.
It was easy to imagine that if even one person here survived, the Antak family, and perhaps the entire Kingdom of Cheslan, would be in enormous trouble.
"No, even the Saint's Blessing Form can't be stronger than . This sword is the strongest. No greater power exists in the material world."
Pomphey answered his own question. Then, with his free left hand, he tugged on the reins, and the skeletal horse actually took flight, carrying him into the air. Jenkins noted that the horse had never shown any flying ability when it belonged to him.
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