Chapter 231: Religious War [7]

High Priest Arnold’s heart skipped a heavy, violent beat against his ribs.

Cold sweat instantly trickled down the back of his neck, soaking his immaculate white-and-gold holy robes.

Yet, through sheer, hardened discipline, he managed to keep his posture upright and his breathing steady.

He could feel it with absolute, terrifying clarity—the four entities standing inside his private, enchanted chambers were by no means ordinary cultivators.

The overwhelming density of their suppressed auras twisted the very fabric of space within the room, making the air feel as thick as liquid lead.

Every refined instinct in Arnold’s body was screaming at him to turn, break through the heavy stone wall behind him, and flee for his life into the night.

Yet Arnold was no fool.

Fleeing was a complete, impossible delusion.

If there were even a fraction of a chance for him to escape, these monsters would never have exposed themselves so casually inside the heart of the Glorious Mythical Sect.

The very fact that they had all stepped into the light of his room meant one simple, absolute truth: they were entirely certain of his death tonight.

High Priest Arnold exhaled a long, deep sigh, forcing his trembling hands to calm down.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the intruders.

His eyes first landed on the tall, golden-haired giant—Grand Chancellor Manuses—who was now perched casually on the stone windowsill.

Manuses was idly tossing a bright red apple from hand to hand, his sun-bright golden eyes gleaming with pure malice.

The moment their eyes met, Manuses’ lips curled into a wide, wicked grin.

He raised a hand and gave Arnold a slow, theatrical wave.

Arnold scoffed at the taunt, turning his head away from the windowsill.

He looked at Pope Croak, who stood with his hands tucked into his dark clerical vestments, offering a low, guttural chuckle.

He glanced at Duchess Eurenia and Duchess Alisa, both women watching him like apex predators observing a trapped mouse.

Finally, Arnold’s eyes rested on a fifth figure who stood near the center of the dark chamber—a young man draped in a long, obsidian-black trench coat.

He stood tall and silent, his hands casually tucked inside his coat pockets, his golden hair catching the dim moonlight.

Arnold took a slow breath, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Are you all here to kill me?” Arnold asked quietly, his voice hollow as he accepted the reality of his predicament.

The young man in the black trench coat stepped forward. A calm, gentle smile rested upon his face as he offered a small, deliberate nod.

“Indeed,” Roy answered smoothly, his voice echoing with an terrifyingly pleasant cadence.

“For me to maintain absolute, seamless control over the incoming religious war… the old High Priest Arnold must die, and a new one must take his place.”

High Priest Arnold’s brows furrowed tightly into a confused frown. “What… what nonsense are you talking about? A new one?”

To answer the dying priest’s question, Roy didn’t bother offering a verbal explanation.

Instead, Roy simply raised a single hand.

In a fraction of a second, an ancient, mystical energy enveloped his body.

His smooth skin shifted, his tall frame shrank slightly, his dark hair instantly turned to a striking, weathered silver, and his young features melted away into deep, familiar wrinkles.

Within a single breath, the young man had vanished, replaced entirely by the dignified, dark-robed figure of the Peerless Supreme Elder.

High Priest Arnold’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

A violent gasp caught in his throat, and he staggered backward in sheer, unadulterated shock, his lower back slamming hard against his obsidian desk.

His heart hammered intensely against his sternum like a wild beast trying to burst free.

The man he had relied on, the grand elder he had tried to bribe, the witness he had dragged to Oscros City… was the enemy all along.

“You…” Arnold rasped, his voice trembling violently as he pointed a shaking finger. “Are you… the Apostle of the God of Beast?!”

The Peerless Supreme Elder smiled warmly.

Then, with a subtle shimmer of spatial energy, the old man’s disguise dissolved, reverting back into the handsome, black-coated young man.

Roy nodded softly, his dark eyes sparkling with amused light.

“I am,” Roy answered simply.

Without taking his eyes off Arnold, Roy turned his heels and walked slowly toward the obsidian desk.

He casually approached the communication orb that Arnold had used just moments ago to speak with Cardinal Ryoger.

Roy reached out with a pale hand, picking up the heavy glass artifact.

He tossed the orb casually into the air, catching it with one hand, then tossed it up again, playing with the priceless holy communicator as a dark, predatory grin stretched across his face.

“You know, High Priest… this was never meant to happen,” Roy spoke softly, his tone almost conversational as he watched the orb spin above his palm.

“The Church of the God of Beast originally came to these lands for a simple purpose—to punish the true evildoers and bring order.

Yet your arrogant Church of the God of the Sky just couldn’t resist sticking its nose where it didn’t belong. You dared to stand in our way, butcher the innocent, and call it holy work.”

Roy caught the communication orb one last time, setting it down softly on the edge of the windowsill beside Manuses.

He turned his back on Arnold, stepping up to the open stone window to look out over the peaceful, moonlit grounds of the Glorious Mythical Sect.

“You brought this absolute ruin upon yourselves, High Priest,” Roy whispered, his voice carrying a cold, ancient weight into the night air. “Whatever storm is about to swallow your holy church… make sure your Cardinal embraces it fully.”

Before Arnold could even scream for help or utter a final curse—

SWISH!

Roy’s physical body dissolved into a cloud of brilliant, golden-crimson light.

The light condensed in a fraction of a millisecond, transforming into a majestic, golden-feathered hawk.

With a sharp, piercing cry that faded into the wind, the bird spread its wings and soared out of the window, vanishing into the dark, cloudy night sky.

High Priest Arnold stood frozen by the desk, his breath hitching as he watched the Apostle leave.

Slowly, Arnold turned his head back toward the interior of the dark chamber.

The warmth of the moonlight was completely gone, replaced by four towering, bloodthirsty shadows closing in from all sides.

Grand Chancellor Manuses tossed his half-eaten apple aside, his large hand gripping the hilt of his weapon with an evil, sadistic smirk.

Pope Croak raised his clawed hands, dark miasma swirling around his fingers, while Duchess Eurenia and Duchess Alisa stepped forward in perfect synchronization, their eyes burning with lethal, predatory delight.

They were the ones chosen to deliver his execution.

High Priest Arnold backed his heels against the solid desk, his blue eyes reflecting absolute terror as the four high-realm entities of the Church of the God of Beast moved in to tear him apart.