Magic Fortification erupted. Golden light flared, then Hughs unleashed a surge of cyan energy. The two forces collided, deflecting the Cannon of Haima. The projectile smashed into a nearby wooden house, reducing it to splinters. Screams and the roar of collapsing buildings filled the air. Nearly a hundred guards froze, then shoved the merchants aside and drew their swords.
"Enemy attack!"
"Protect the Bishop!"
Shouts echoed through the chaos. A shield wall formed instantly, cavalry flanking the wings. Hughs pushed past the soldiers blocking his path, his gentle face twisted with fanaticism.
"He cannot harm me. Go capture them."
The delay was brief. The attackers on the street retreated, leaping onto the roof of a wooden house. Agile Confessors pursued, tearing the roof apart in a few exchanges. The attackers fled, but another dull thud echoed.
A blood-red blade sliced through a nearby wooden house, reducing it to fragments. Confessors preparing to chase fell screaming.
"Ambush! Form ranks!"
The morning's tranquility shattered as armor clashed. The carriage curtain tore open, revealing Caerlus in full golden armor.
He spotted a massive black shadow leaping out, wielding a giant blade that knocked several cavalrymen to the ground. The body, Troll-sized, made his pupils contract.
"The Great Wyrm Theodorix. Didn't he leave the snow mountains?"
No one answered. Blurred shadows darted from the ruined wooden houses, swinging blood-red blades, stabbing cavalrymen struggling to rise.
"Bloody Fingers too? How did they get mixed up?"
Hughs's face contorted with shock and bewilderment. Blood Incantations couldn't be hidden. What madness had driven these heretics to attack him? Bewilderment gave way to fury.
"To oppose the emissary of the Two Fingers, obstructing a sacred mission—these heretics are unforgivable!"
He leaped out, covering over ten meters in a single bound. His round hammer erupted with golden radiance, forming a massive, hazy hammer that crushed a Blood Knight into pulp. He struck again and again, hammering the knight into the earth. The guards gaped, never imagining the kind Bishop could be so ferocious.
"What are you staring for? Pull the Bishop back!"
Caerlus grabbed his greatshield and leaped onto his massive golden warhorse, raising his Golden Halberd. Golden light surged as an incantation granted him immense power. He roared, "Attack with me! Capture them!"
"You idiots! Didn't we agree to move in the afternoon?"
Theodorix swung his giant blade, sending soldiers flying. The elites slid back over a dozen paces, shields covering their bodies. Grappling hooks and javelins hurtled at the Great Wyrm, splattering blood across its body.
Varré and the Blood Priest exchanged glances, questioning why the other had acted without orders. Their expressions mirrored each other's confusion. They didn't know!
The plan had been fully prepared, reinforcements hadn't arrived, and the guards didn't seem forewarned. How had they burst through the roof during a secret meeting?
"I'm not sure, let's fight our way out first!" Varré roared like a beast, leading his subordinates in retreat.
A Tree Sentinel, fully encased in heavy armor, charged before them. His halberd hoisted a Bloody Finger into the air, his voice like thunder:
"Trying to flee? Did you ask me first?!"
The encounter caught both sides off guard. Varré and Eleonora's expressions darkened as they stared at the Bloody Finger impaled on the halberd, screaming. Regrouping now would be no simple task.
A Tree Sentinel had infiltrated their ranks, and the Bishop's presence was even more shocking. Weren't the priests of the Church of the Two Fingers supposed to be benevolent hypocrites? When had this madman appeared? Setting that aside, their plan had been exposed. Someone was playing them.
"Hahahaha, what a bunch of fools."
On a distant tavern roof, Throne clutched his stomach, laughing uncontrollably. Before him stretched a chaotic battlefield. Golden Soldiers, Church Confessors, and Bloody Fingers clashed in a tangled mess. The Tree Sentinel, in particular, moved like a human wrecking ball, charging back and forth, flattening everything in his path. The cautious Snow Mountain People had already fled in disarray as soon as the fighting erupted.
With multiple factions entangled, the scene was pure chaos.
"You're making fools of them again," Ranni said, her tone exasperated. Throne had barely lifted a finger—just cast a high-level spell and retreated to this vantage point.
"Isn't it better this way? Why resort to swords and spears when your mind can solve the problem? This is what they call 'killing with a borrowed knife.'" Throne smirked, his expression devious.
For the first time, he witnessed the strength of the Erdtree and the Church of the Two Fingers. From his detached perspective, he could assess their power clearly. They were formidable. Beyond their discipline and superior equipment, they wielded numerous Erdtree Incantations.
Amidst the flashes of golden light, these incantations provided massive buffs, amplifying individual strength into collective might. He knew the Bloody Fingers and Theodorix excelled in individual combat, yet they were being crushed, unable to mount a counterattack.
"The Golden Army is no joke. See that Tree Sentinel? He's clearly just a hero-level fighter, but with all those buffs, he could challenge a Demigod."
Throne pointed. The Tree Sentinel, already a walking fortress, shone with radiant golden light. Under the insane stacking of buffs, he hoisted Theodorix into the air with a single halberd thrust. The Blood Incantations hitting him barely registered.
"The Erdtree is their anchor, the source of their power," Ranni remarked, her tone indifferent. The Golden Army had conquered The Lands Between to establish the Erdtree, and the Erdtree itself surpassed any god in power. In this land, faith equated to strength. By performing group incantations before battle, even common soldiers could stand against knights.
As they advanced, the more territory they claimed, the stronger the Erdtree grew, granting even more potent incantations. It was a snowball effect, transforming them into an unstoppable force.
"By the way, when do you plan to deal with Hughs?"
"Patience. This is a rare opportunity."
Throne raised his hand, pulling out a small stool from somewhere and sitting down.
"I want to thoroughly assess the caliber of these formidable rivals."
The Bishop of the Two Fingers sought to contact Astel, making him a prime target for Throne. But while killing him would be simple, the chance to observe the Golden Army in action was rare. Let the Bloody Fingers' flesh and blood serve as bait. Let me see what these future rivals are truly made of.
If either side knew the mastermind was perched on a stool, calmly watching the carnage, they'd likely die of rage on the spot. But they were locked in a bloody struggle, too consumed to think of anything else. This clash between 'good' and 'evil' was starkly visible to the naked eye.
Blood Incantations slithered through the battlefield, wicked and eerie, perfect for assassins and skirmishes. Golden Order Incantations blazed with radiance, holy and unyielding, meant for frontal assaults and unwavering support.
"Lucidity shatters Blood Horror. Hemorrhage crumbles under recovery. That Great Wyrm's finished—one arm's hanging by a thread."
Throne watched, narrating quietly. The Bloody Fingers clawed their way north, leaving a trail of corpses in their wake. The Golden Army surged forward, emboldened. Cavalry charged relentlessly, shield walls clashed head-on, and Confessors darted between the flanks, hammers swinging, incantations flowing.
Mental Immunity. Golden Bravery. Golden Vow. Magic Barrier. Incantation Golden Blade. Unmoving Golden Glow. Each soldier glowed under layers of buffs. Even a pig armed with that many incantations could trample a knight. Limbs severed? Recovery incantations sealed the wounds in seconds.
Throne saw it firsthand—a cavalryman's belly sliced open by Eleonora's Twinblade. A barrage of incantations followed. The wound closed instantly, and he swung his greatsword with renewed fury. Theodorix's blade swept out, but the golden-lit soldiers stood firm, shields absorbing the blow like iron walls.
Their defenses had multiplied tenfold. It was staggering. These believers, devout to the Golden Order, must have been unstoppable during the Erdtree's prime. Their faces practically screamed invincibility.
"Their faith in the Erdtree is unmatched. Few Tarnished could ever compete."
Ranni's voice cut through his thoughts.
"That Bishop, though… he's peculiar."
Leyndell's military edge hadn't dulled.
"Faith warriors. The more of them, the stronger they get. They feed off each other," Throne murmured, his gaze fixed on the Bishop, who was now calmly combing his blonde hair.
After a moment, Throne spoke.
"Nothing strange about him. Religious zealots can take any form. When you try to grasp an indescribable power, you become indescribable yourself."
He'd seen enough madness on this journey—Tanith, Rykard, the Frenzied Flame fanatics, even the nobles. Obsession breeds madness. Losing all rationality is just the beginning. True mastery of madness lies in balancing calm and intensity, like himself.
"Caria needs to prepare. The Erdtree's core strength isn't something to underestimate."
"I know. Faith isn't our strength, but we have something else."
"Like what?"
"Numen technology. And Blaidd's already searching for the lost Golem crafting techniques. Results will come soon."
Faith warriors versus tech warriors. Throne couldn't help but smile as he pushed himself to his feet.
"Exactly. We have our own edge. And they've got a fatal flaw."
Throne's eyes tracked the remnants of the Bloody Fingers fleeing the town. Only twenty or thirty remained. The Tree Sentinel was still leading a dozen cavalrymen in a relentless pursuit, while shield-bearing soldiers advanced through the breached wooden wall. Slow but unstoppable, like a mountain pressing down.
Theodorix roared in vain, abandoned and powerless against the Golden Army's meticulous formation.
"They rely on numbers to fight. Rigid. Stiff. Bypass them, and they're helpless."
This army needed unity to wield its strength, but the pursuit had shattered their formation into chaos. Throne kicked the stool aside and vaulted across the rooftops, aiming straight for the last carriage.
The Bishop observed the battle with a serene expression, amused by the Bloody Fingers' arrogance. Skilled in stealth and assassination, they'd chosen to confront the guards head-on. Madness. A pity, really, given the eerie nature of Blood Incantations.
Capturing one or two alive might reveal the motive behind the assassination attempt. Regardless, the Mohgwyn Dynasty was a threat that had to be eradicated. After a moment's contemplation, he gestured kindly.
"Inform Lord Caerlus to spare the Great Wyrm's life. Unlikely as it is, I wish to uncover the Mohgwyn Dynasty's conspiracy."
The Bishop addressed the guard beside him. As a disciplined force, their intelligence was sharp, and over ten men still surrounded the carriage. The guard nodded and turned to leave when a figure darted across the rooftops.
"My Lord, look!"
"I see him."
Hughs glanced up, his expression hardening. Had the Bloody Fingers sacrificed themselves to create an opening for this assassin? Did they forget I was once known as the 'Mage Killer'? He removed his glasses, his calm demeanor shifting to ferocity.
"Heretics deserve death."
Barrier of Gold. A potent incantation enveloped him. Even a sorcery professor couldn't breach this defense. Meanwhile, the newcomer drew two staves, releasing a chilling mist. Impressive frost sorcery. Group Magic Fortification. The Bishop reacted swiftly. A golden sigil appeared beneath his feet, and within a ten-meter radius, a cyan light erupted.
The ice fog dissipated on contact. To one blessed by the Two Fingers, you are nothing but a maggot. Hughs waved his right hand, clearing the ice fog around him, and growled, "Raise shields! Watch for ice spears."
As he spoke, thick ice spears plummeted from the sky, deflected by the raised greatshields. The knights smirked; sorcerers had few tricks and posed no threat. Hughs allowed himself a faint smile, but it froze. Thump, thump, thump… War drums echoed in the distance. No—those were heavy footsteps. What kind of sorcerer charges into battle?
A figure burst through the ice fog, wielding a thick staff. Throne forewent his light blades, knowing they'd falter. Instead, he charged head-on, glintstone crystals forming on his shoulder beneath his cloak. Meatball Charge! With a dull thud, the golden tower shield buckled, and the knight in heavy armor was sent flying. Unmoving Golden Glow.
The remaining knights shone brighter, thrusting their spears forward. Throne didn't retreat or dodge—he accelerated. Futile! The spears pierced his cloak, grinding against the crystals on his shoulder, sparks flying. Then, a massive force transferred from the shield to the chest. Thump! Thump! Thump!
Throne plowed through in a straight line. The impact surpassed even Theodorix's strength. The knights, like golden blocks, were tossed into the air and crashed down. Before they could recover, a staff loomed large in their vision. Splat—
The helmet crumpled like tin foil under a sledgehammer—the skull beneath burst in a wet explosion of bone and brain matter.
Throne advanced without breaking stride. His boots crushed ribcages as he swung the staff in a brutal horizontal arc. Another crack, another helmet split open like an overripe melon. The so-called Glintstone Sorcery? More like skull-crushing blunt force trauma.
He wasn't a large man, but every swing of that staff carried the weight of a headsman's axe. Helmets shattered. Weapons didn't matter—flesh and bone yielded all the same. Step by step, corpse by corpse, he carved a path through the guards. Hughs' face twisted, his voice a strangled snarl.
"Heretic filth. A maggot swollen with blasphemy!"
Dozens of ripples appeared above his head, and golden spears rained down in a furious hail. Throne leapt, spinning midair, his blood-slick staff flashing. The Carian Greatsword materialized in a burst of blue light—a whirling guillotine deflecting spear after spear before he brought it down in a final, earth-shaking strike.