"Who!"
Panic-stricken, with a touch of ferocity like a beast facing danger.
Ares gripped the bronze dagger he had somehow acquired, nervously watching the front.
He was too weak now, so weak that any Demigod from the Mortal Realm might be able to stop him.
If there was a Wizard blocking his path now, or those ascetics from Silver Moon City who hadn't made a move from the beginning, he would probably fall here.
After all, Ares had heard of these terrifying Humans, selected from the Spirit Realm Church's elite Guards and Priests, who voluntarily sharpened their spirits through the harshest lifestyles, ultimately bearing that power with strong will—the fragments of the Ancient Sun God scattered in the Mortal Realm.
According to them, this was to bear and redeem the sin of the Fake God, using their spirit to affect the will within those fragments.
