Chapter 230: Religious War [6]

“So… that’s what happened, huh?”

The deep, gravelly voice of Cardinal Ryoger echoed softly from the shimmering surface of the communication orb.

The projection of his face hummed with faint golden light, hovering above the obsidian desk in High Priest Arnold’s private chambers within the Glorious Mythical Sect.

High Priest Arnold stood before the glowing artifact, his hands neatly folded inside his white-and-gold holy sleeves.

The moment he had returned to the sect alongside the shaken Peerless Supreme Elder, Arnold had locked himself in his quarters to deliver a full, detailed report of the massacre in Oscros City, the total obliteration of Inspector Lyrex’s Paladin vanguard, and the open declaration of war by the golden-haired Martial Lord.

Yet, to Arnold’s complete surprise, the response from the other side of the orb was entirely void of rage.

There was no explosive burst of holy mana tearing through the divine connection, no thunderous roaring, and no blind, furious cursing.

Cardinal Ryoger’s weathered, scar-lined face remained completely impassive.

His dark eyes were cold, still pools of ice, reflecting no emotion whatsoever as he processed the disastrous news.

This profound, unnatural calm bothered High Priest Arnold for a brief second.

A subtle flicker of unease ran down his spine, but he quickly reined in his anxiety and bowed his head slightly.

“Your Eminence… what are your orders?” Arnold asked, his voice tight. “What must I do next?”

Cardinal Ryoger remained silent for a long moment.

The glowing projection of his eyes seemed to gaze past the room, calculating variables across vast distances.

“Our holy fleet has already crossed the continental borders,” Cardinal Ryoger answered calmly, his steady voice cutting through the quiet room.

“We will be entering the Jura Eastern Continent in two days’ time.”

Arnold’s eyes brightened slightly, but before he could speak, the Cardinal issued a sharp, unyielding command.

“Until I arrive with the main fleet, you will remain strictly within the perimeter of the Glorious Mythical Sect,” Cardinal Ryoger ordered.

“You are not to step foot into the three cities, nor are you to engage any suspected heretics.”

“But Your Eminence!” Arnold blurted out, his brows furrowing as his pride flared. “If we allow those beast-worshipping dogs to roam unchecked for two whole days, their influence over the mortal populace will—”

“Silence, Arnold,” Cardinal Ryoger cut him off instantly.

His calm tone did not rise in volume, yet it carried a heavy, suffocating weight that made Arnold’s mouth instantly snap shut.

The Cardinal’s projection narrowed its eyes through the glowing light. “You are currently alone, Arnold. Inspector Lyrex and his vanguard are dead. Meanwhile, the high-tier commanders of the Church of the God of Beast are already deeply entrenched within the Northern Hashian Mountains.

If you act carelessly or attempt to avenge your fallen men out of reckless pride… you will die a gruesome death before my vessel even touches down.”

High Priest Arnold stood completely frozen.

He swallowed hard, the sharp taste of frustration lingering on his tongue, but he could not utter a single word of rebuttal.

He knew the Cardinal had spoken the absolute truth.

The golden-haired warrior he had encountered in the ruined square was a high-tier Martial Lord whose speed bordered on the supernatural.

If the beastmen ambushed him together in the open, even his cultivation might not save him from being dismembered in the dirt.

Cardinal Ryoger exhaled a long, heavy sigh from across the continental distance.

“Since the Church of the God of the Sky has had war openly declared upon it… we shall not grant them a simple skirmish,” the Cardinal said, his voice dropping into a deep, ominous register.

“I am not coming with a mere investigation squad, Arnold. I will be bringing a full holy army with me.”

A slow, vicious smile spread across High Priest Arnold’s face. “A full army…”

“Yes,” Cardinal Ryoger continued coldly.

“Which brings me to your sole objective over the next forty-eight hours. You must quicken your control over the Glorious Mythical Sect. Use the Peerless Supreme Elder, pressure Sect Leader Mao, do whatever it takes.

I want no political friction, no internal restrictions, and no stubborn elders standing in my way when my legion arrives to purge these mountains.”

“It shall be done, Your Eminence,” Arnold declared, bowing low.

“Do not disappoint me again.”

FLICKER.

The divine connection severed abruptly.

The glowing light hovering over the obsidian desk dimmed and vanished into absolute darkness, leaving the quiet chamber illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight filtering through the high arch windows.

High Priest Arnold raised his head, his lips curling upward into a sharp, lopsided grin.

A frantic, intoxicating excitement surged through his veins.

Two days.

That was all he had to wait.

Once Cardinal Ryoger arrived at the head of a holy legion, the entire Northern Hashian mountain range would be cleansed in holy fire.

The golden-haired heretic who had mocked him, the mysterious Apostle, and every foolish commoner who had dared to repeat the rumors would be slaughtered like pigs.

Justice for his fallen Paladins would be written in rivers of heretical blood.

Suddenly—

High Priest Arnold’s smile completely faltered.

THUMP.

His heart skipped an agonizing beat.

An instinctual, icy terror seized his soul, freezing the blood in his veins so fast that his breath hitched in his throat.

The air inside his private, heavily enchanted room had suddenly become immeasurably dense.

The spatial barriers he had personally set up around the chamber had not just been bypassed—they had been silently, utterly erased.

Trembling slightly, High Priest Arnold slowly turned his head away from his desk.

Standing right inside his locked room, bathed in the dim moonlight, were four figures silently watching him.

At the front stood the familiar, golden-haired giant—Grand Chancellor Manuses—his sharp golden eyes burning with cruel amusement, his lopsided sneer fully visible.

Beside him stood a short, squat man with mottled skin and narrow, calculating eyes, dressed in rich clerical vestments—Pope Croak.

To his left stood a stunning, regal woman with cold, dangerous beauty and dark, sweeping robes—Duchess Eurenia.

And hovering near the shadow of the doorway was a captivating woman with a dangerous, sharp smile dancing on her lips—Duchess Alisa.

All four of them stood in their human disguises, completely blocking the exit.

High Priest Arnold’s hands began to shake as he took a slow, desperate step back against his desk, his blue eyes wide with pure, unadulterated shock.

Four Dukes and Duchesses—four monstrous entities of the Church of the God of Beast—were standing right inside his private sanctum within the heart of the Glorious Mythical Sect.

Grand Chancellor Manuses took a single step forward, his golden hair catching the moonlight as he raised a finger to his lips.

“Shh…” Manuses whispered softly, his sneer widening into a terrifying visor of death.

“Don’t scream, High Priest. We wouldn’t want to disturb your precious rest, now would we?”