giant sword shaped like an inverted cross cuts through the mountain range, leaving only a tattered suit of armor hanging from its hilt.
The Creator himself has disappeared, and Medici, the "Angel of War," has naturally become the commander-in-chief of all armies.
He sat crouching on a cracked stone, surrounded by all sorts of creatures.
Humans, elves, vampires, giants, dragons, and even several spirit creatures—powerful demigods of different origins, regardless of rank, filled Medici's field of vision in an orderly fashion, based solely on the order of their arrival.
"Your Highness, the Pas Canal is situated in a low-lying area, surrounded by mountains on two sides, making it unsuitable for large-scale troop operations. We can approach from the air..."
"Bullshit! There are less than two hundred of you, young and old, and if you're all willing to risk your lives to crawl out of the nest, are there even forty of you?"
"You think you can break through the canal's defenses? Do you really think those sea creatures are brainless and have no temper?"
"Demetenus, please explain in detail what you mean by 'sea creatures'?"
"No, Your Majesty, you misunderstand. I meant the storm's rebellion..."
The jarring noise, a mixture of dragon, giant, and ancient elven languages, tormented the "War Angel's" nerves.
The leaders of the various races at the center of the conflict did not notice Medici's slightly raised, almost vertical eyebrows. The other demigods, whose status was not high enough, who were also surrounding the "Angel of War," were aware of the angel's ever-growing anger, but none of them cared about the risk of igniting the powder keg and quietly reminded the bigwigs who were fighting.
Finally, the "Angel of War" reached her limit.
He suddenly stood up from the stone, made one last decision with his remaining reason, and then let go completely.
Medici's iron eyes seemed to burn with fire. He spotted the gray dragon that had been the most vocal in their earlier argument, glanced around the ground, and decided to make the most of it. Under the dragon's terrified gaze, ignoring its pleas for mercy, he swung the "Light Chaser's" head and delivered a solid blow to the dragon's head.
Immediately afterwards, as if throwing away trash, He tossed the head of the "Light Chaser" in front of the dragon, then pried open the dragon's half-closed mouth with both hands, which the dragon dared not resist. His right hand, covered in iron armor, grabbed the dragon's forked tongue, which had a tip similar to that of a snake, and pulled it out by kneading it.
"Your Highness!"
The "Dream Weaver" dared not use any offensive extraordinary power, helplessly begging for mercy in the spiritual world.
Looking into the dragon's trembling golden vertical pupils, Medici released the tongue from his grasp, belatedly realizing the sticky feeling of saliva on the iron armor in his palm.
His upper body was covered by a sudden burst of flames, and the extraordinary material containing a complete "Light Chaser" lay in the mud, unnoticed by anyone.
Do I look like an idiot?
No one responded to the "angel of war's" real question; instead, the silence was met with more uncomfortable and indirect criticism.
"You're not even willing to give me a perfunctory answer, not willing to pretend to be my true thoughts and deceive me. Although no one admits it, you've undoubtedly treated me like a fool."
"Ha, if nobody thinks that way, why not be more patient instead of rushing to show your disgusting stupidity the moment you step over the fence?"
"You agree, don't you, Vulcan?"
Medici gripped the dragon's horn and pulled the forty-ton beast off the ground.
His eyes, the same color as swords, teased the fragile hearts of dragons, as he simultaneously thrust out twin daggers, one of mockery and the other of ridicule.
"You and your compatriots played a good hand."
"Loholid led that little Orsono by the nose, coaxing the idiot into a daze with just a few words, making him think he had used his brain, and inviting us to come and help Him defend His precarious throne."
"That way you'll have a chance, won't you?"
"No…" "Dream Weaver" Vulcan instinctively wanted to deny it, but quickly shut his mouth, afraid that saying another word would lead to a worse outcome.
Medici looked at the dragon's cowardice and let out a cold laugh.
He slammed the dragon to the ground and addressed his subordinates.
"This war was started by the Lord."
"This is the Lord's war, my war, and you are nothing but hyenas who have come to enjoy the Lord's generosity."
"You'd better keep your impure ambitions hidden until the results are in..."
"You guys... ha."
The "Angel of War" did not explicitly state the threat, yet everyone deeply felt the long-suppressed discontent.
Just as everyone was trembling with fear and trying to send out a representative to quell the situation, a thin figure squeezed through the crowd, who were holding their breath like wooden statues, and walked in from the outside.
Duke Ornan, the "Crescent Moon," glanced at the disheveled crowd and, amidst countless gazes of shock and admiration, picked up the head of the "Light Chaser," which had been deliberately ignored, in front of Medici.
He paid no heed to the burns caused by the sacred aura of the "sun," and presented a trophy to the "angel of war" while saying with slight dissatisfaction.
"Your Highness, please show His Majesty the most basic respect. You should not publicly slander His Majesty."
Medici, his face grim, snorted and turned his head away. "Crescent Moon" Ornan nodded slightly, seemingly unconcerned, and continued speaking.
"We have fulfilled our mission. The vampires have brought back 0-36. Please accept this on behalf of the great 'Father of All Beings'."
Medici's eyes flickered, and the frost on his handsome face softened slightly.
"Well done."
Ornan accepted the honor without any burden. Behind him, a pair of exaggeratedly large black wings silently unfolded, enveloping him and the "War Angel" and isolating them from the outside world.
The other angel present, the "Queen of Calamity," scoffed at Ornan's subtle gestures. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she lost interest in continuing to watch the show. Leaving the dragon and giant looking at each other in bewilderment, she turned and left, slowly flying towards her hovering chariot.
Within the enclosed space enclosed by bat-like wings, Ornan, who was able to speak privately, bowed again.
"Your Highness, should we return this 'Light Chaser' to Rune?"
"return?"
Medici followed Ornan's gaze, glanced at the bird's head, and sneered.
"What, is Orsono planning to give me Backlund's claim?"
"Of course not. Backlund is the former capital of His Majesty the Night Emperor, and it holds great significance for His Majesty and the vampires," Ornan argued in a low voice.
"Then why should I give my spoils to Rune?"
Faced with the "Angel of War's" questioning, Ornan simply shook his head calmly.
"Your Highness, we are currently maintaining a covert alliance with Rune, albeit temporarily, and we need to work hard to maintain it until we can kick them aside."
"You guys are really good at taking things easy..."
Having fought alongside the "Red of War" for a thousand years, Ornan had long since become immune to the "Angel of War's" mockery, his heart as still as water.
"You can't say that, Your Highness."
"Taking 0-36 is not among our strategic objectives. Just now, I obeyed your orders and killed Prince Rune, who was supporting George III..."
Ornan's lips, which were thinner than average, were slightly upturned, revealing contempt and disgust.
"Ah, yes, perhaps you don't care about this so-called prince, and even I have never taken him seriously, but in any case, he is the temporary holder of 0-36. Compared to the death of a mere blood relative, losing a precious level zero sealed artifact is not something that can be easily ignored."
"That King of Rune shouldn't be that magnanimous."
As one of the three remaining dukes of the vampire clan, "Crescent Moon" is also a member of the High Council.
He not only knew the Creator's secret order to Zarathustra to deceive George III, but also used personal connections to win Orsono I's position as the leader on the front lines of the battlefield.
From any perspective, He is the most suitable person to discuss this topic with the "Angel of War".
His gaze lingered on the two items representing the "Light Chasers," and Ornan shrugged.
"You publicly killed the angel of the 'Eternal Sun' and openly provoked Him. Now, we can no longer deceive ourselves into thinking that we still have a chance to keep the death of this 'Light Chaser' a secret."
"Rune will inevitably receive news of the fall of the angel. Regardless of what others think, George III, who made an alliance with us as the future emperor, will certainly question our intentions."
"After all, if our goal is merely to become 'Light Chasers' to make up for our shortcomings in the 'Sun' pathway, we have already gained one, and there is no need to 'borrow' another from our allies, is there?"
Ornan's analysis was logical and well-founded, but it failed to sway the "Angel of War".
Medici looked at the crown of thorns that He had carefully held in his right hand, and a rare tenderness called memory appeared on his face.
"This originally belonged to the Lord; they stole it from the Lord."
Arguing with fanatics is undoubtedly foolish, so Duke Crescent Moon has no intention of continuing the discussion in this direction.
He cleverly pretended not to hear the "Angel of War's" exclamation and steered the conversation in another direction.
"Then Friedrich will probably have another headache."
"Let Him have a headache," Medici said with a nonchalant laugh. "If the little guy can't even do this, it will confirm your claim that He is just a mediocre person living off the legacy of his grandfather."
"Ha, old Stella faced far more trouble than He did back then."
When talking about Zarathustra, and another, even older Zarathustra, Medici's tone was unusually lenient.
After all, in a sense, Stella Zarathustra, the late Duke Zarathustra, was a scapegoat for the "God of Mysteries".
"Alright, you're the commander, you're in charge."
Although their verbal address was somewhat intimate, Ornan actually had very little affection for the "Angel with the Lamp" who was far away in Rune.
He casually brushed aside Zarathustra's unfortunate future, and the black wings behind him began to disintegrate.
In the final moment when they could speak in private, Duke Crescent Moon spoke lightly, seemingly unintentionally probing.
"Your Highness, now that you have made your decision, you may need to consider the issue of who will be the recipient of this extra 'Light Chaser'."
"Balance is still quite important."
"The Father of all beings has always upheld equality, and we do indeed need a dragon angel who is loyal to us."
"Giants and dragons have always been considered equals; we must respect tradition."
...
Derrick had never seen such a bright environment in real life.
Thick, smooth, ancient-style white stone pillars support two long, secluded stone corridors that resemble museums.
Lifelike statues of saints are cleverly placed in the center of the pillars, serving both a load-bearing function and perfectly showcasing the highest artistic achievement.
Illuminated by the surrounding lights, the solidified light cradled these sacred and magnificent creations, sending pure warmth far away.
This magnificent building, imbued with the vicissitudes and sedimentation of time, is the Grand Librarian, which Derrick mentioned many times at Tarot gatherings.
As befits a city-state primarily inhabited by "singers" and "readers," the Grand Librarian perfectly embodies all the characteristics of these two paths, where the purity of faith and the greatness of knowledge flourish in the same building.
Unlike the other members of the exploration team, Chief Colin Iliad of Silver City did not accept the invitation from the residents of Mountain Gate to visit the Grand Librarian.
In fact, he had already read more than half of the collection in the Grand Librarian's Library twenty years ago. Now, as the chief librarian, he has not lost his initial thirst for knowledge, but the weight of responsibility in his heart has surpassed that of most other things.
He had some questions and urgently needed to communicate with the leader of Shanmen City, so he had to hand over the team to another elder who was accompanying him.
The woman walking near Derrick, who happens to be entering the same group of bookshelves as the "Lightbringers," is none other than the elder who has temporarily taken on the task of leading the team—"Black Knight" Lovia.
This bright and elegant mature lady focused her gaze on the mural at the top of the bookshelves, as if searching for something.
Seeing this, Derrick, unaware that something was amiss, became engrossed in his own work, eagerly searching for all knowledge related to the "Singer" pathway, as well as information that other members of the Tarot Club wanted him to investigate.
The unique feature of the mountain gate city, maintained by extraordinary power, was the lights that simulated the movement of the sun, sliding from the center to the west. Derrick's legs began to feel noticeably numb.
He hurriedly stomped his foot, pulling his thoughts away from the sea of knowledge, and carefully examined the simulated sunlight for a while before belatedly realizing that more than four hours had passed, far exceeding the team's agreed-upon free time.
Realizing this, Derrick hurriedly put the book back in his hand, jogged quickly, and dashed out from behind the towering bookshelves to leave.
However, as soon as he reached a more open area, he was surprised to find that he was not the only one who had forgotten the deadline and was late.
"Black Knight" Lovia was still standing under that mural, gazing up in a daze, admiring it.
Derrick dared not make any more noise and cautiously moved closer. He had only taken two steps when he met a pair of pale purple eyes that seemed veiled in mist.
"Elder Lovia," Derrick said nervously, his gaze darting away.
"I seem to have forgotten to check the time." Lovia's voice, like her appearance, was mysterious and ethereal.
Derrick, who was also engrossed in reading and lost track of time, didn't know how to respond to the elder's words and felt awkward.
He lowered his head, his eyes darting around, and after struggling for a long time, he was almost about to give up when he suddenly thought of the mural above his head.
"Elder Lovia, what did you discover from the murals here?"
"Look over there."
As if she had anticipated Derrick's question, Lovia pointed to the northwest corner of the room, to the edge of the grand mural.
...
In the far west and far north of the land forsaken by the gods, there lies the palace bathed in twilight—the "Giant's Court."
A colossal figure occupied the entirety of a gate at the only passage to the center of the royal court. It stood on a high ground where land and sea met, overlooking the entire continent.
He was like a tangible dawn, yet completely blended into the twilight behind him; his silver-white full-body armor was inevitably stained with rust under the corrosive influence of time.
The Light Slayer, Milgongen, lowered his head, looking at the youth who only reached his knees, yet he seemed to be facing a formidable enemy. He inquired with an almost humble attitude.
"Your Highness, it seems that your true form has left the Forsaken Land."
"Has the other master truly awakened?"