Chapter 831: The Local Power

The Paladin Prelate had assumed Henwell had only just entered Glory Rank. His new level was not yet stable, so the prelate believed he posed no real challenge.

The reality before him is nothing like he imagined.

The aura bearing down on him alone is enough for Juventus to realize that he may not be a match for this young man.

But things have already gone too far for Juventus to back down gracefully.

If he yields now, he will lose any voice he has in the Western Federation.

Windsor does not leave. She stands in the doorway with one hand resting on her longsword.

If Henwell makes a move, she will cut down the knights of the Western Regions outside, then rush out and sound the alarm.

Within a minute at most, Thunderclap Ballista Bolts will reduce this place to ruins.

Like Juventus, the knights outside are now drenched in sweat.

Only then do the knights realize that the tall woman holding them in her aura is a powerful Iron Knight.

The representatives in the meeting room are already prepared to dive through the windows at the first sign of a fight.

If a battle truly breaks out, it will be far beyond anything people at their level can stay to witness.

Just as the tension reaches its peak, Ashiburn, Archbishop of the Western Federation, rises. "Henwell! What do you think you're doing?"

"Prelate Juventus has traveled all this way to help us deal with the Calamity War. By acting like this, aren't you betraying their goodwill?"

There is a great deal hidden in those words. Anyone who stops to think can hear everything Ashiburn is really saying.

The old man beside him gives Ashiburn an approving glance before rising with a smile. "Enough. Henwell, you are an outstanding young man."

"Juventus did not mean to humiliate you. You are a Paladin too, so you know the Paladin Order has many rules."

"He simply does not understand the Forgotten Continent's unusual circumstances and knows too little about you. That is how this misunderstanding arose."

When he finishes, the old man turns to Juventus, whose forehead is already beaded with sweat. "You are his elder. Why are you still quarreling with a junior? Do not work yourself up. Rein in your temper."

Juventus snorts without responding to the old man's teasing.

He desperately wants to sit down, but Henwell's aura has him completely locked in place. He does not dare move an inch.

The old man turns to Henwell again. "Henwell, indulge an old man and sit down first."

The words are a command, and an attack.

Henwell senses a law-like force gathering around him. It begins suppressing the power of both locks and even starts interfering with his mind and soul.

Holy Word!

The blood-red flames surrounding Henwell suddenly surge more than a foot higher. The Chains of Civilization beneath his feet spread outward, quickly covering the entire residence like a spiderweb.

Every professional in the room turns to Henwell in astonishment.

The power of both locks slowly subsides around Henwell. He dusts off his clothes and says, "Fine. Since an elder is mediating, I'll show you that respect."

Henwell then looks toward Windsor at the door. "Go to my residence and have some fruit and drinks sent over. Bring another table as well."

Only after everything is arranged does Henwell leisurely settle into the enormous chair.

The elderly churchman gives Henwell a slight nod without speaking, raises his tea, and takes a small sip.

Few people notice the trace of crimson in the tea when he lowers the cup.

By breaking the old man's Holy Word, Henwell has injured his spiritual power.

Just as Henwell said, sitting down was a courtesy he chose to extend. The old man had not commanded him to do it.

Juventus says nothing more. He does not even look at Henwell as he silently returns to his seat.

Only a handful of people realize what Henwell has just done.

He has suppressed Juventus's aura unaided and broken the old churchman's Holy Word.

That is no small feat.

Even more importantly, everyone sensed the power of the Chains of Civilization. Henwell reduced all their strength by twenty percent.

Every powerful professional present thinks of the same word: Domain!

This is a world where the strong prey on the weak, and the strong will always enjoy privileges.

At this moment, both the church and the empire acknowledge Henwell's strength.

Henwell's earlier provocation no longer looks like arrogance. It now seems like the temper and bearing expected of someone powerful.

The fact that he can already touch the threshold of Domain leaves no doubt that he will advance to the next stage.

Henwell is only forty-two years old!

Anyone who becomes a Domain Master before turning one hundred is a prodigy among all humanity.

Beside Henwell, Barbarossa runs his tongue across the half of his face made of bare bone. "Henwell! These people are enemies, aren't they? Let's join forces and kill them all!"

"If I can devour their souls and flesh, I will soon reach the peak of Glory Rank."

"You can eliminate your potential enemies and gain enormous benefits in the process!"

Henwell replies irritably, "Are you out of your mind? There are not only divinely favored people here, but descendants of gods as well."

"Killing them all would not be difficult."

"But if we hurt the juniors and their elders come after us, what then? Are you going to stand at the front and take the blows?"

Barbarossa asks, "Didn't he say divine power could not reach the Abandoned Continent?"

Henwell counters, "Would you stake your life on intelligence we haven't confirmed?"

"Besides, he only said it was difficult for gods to project their power here. He never said they couldn't do it!"

Barbarossa sighs and greedily sweeps his gaze across everyone once more before reluctantly fading into Henwell's left shoulder.

At that moment, everyone present, including those at Glory Rank, senses an inexplicable chill that vanishes as quickly as it came.

None of them realize how close they have just come to death.

There may be several Glory-Rank professionals present, but none of them were born on this continent.

They can retain their Glory-Rank power here only because they are protected by divine power.

Otherwise, they would be able to exert no more than Iron-Rank strength.

The two native-born Glory-Rank professionals are Ashiburn, Archbishop of the Western Federation, and Luke, Marshal of the Western Regions.

Both were raised to Glory Rank through an abundance of resources, and neither is much use in a real fight.

If Henwell and Barbarossa truly unleashed themselves, no one here would escape.

This is precisely why a truly native-born Glory-Rank professional is so important.

At that moment, one of the visitors from the empire, a man who appears to be in his fifties, smiles. "What an outstanding young man!"

"I am Prince Kevin of the Groias Empire. It is an honor to meet such an impressive young man."

Another middle-aged man speaks next. "Pombeck, Marshal of the Imperial Expeditionary Army."

Though clearly reluctant, Juventus still says, "Juventus, Paladin Prelate of the Church."

The old man who cast Holy Word studies Henwell for a moment. "Stansen, a Cardinal of the Church."

Henwell responds in kind. "Henwell, the Blood Hill Lord of Peace Haven."