None of them realized the pressure they felt was entirely self-inflicted.
But Dusk knew that very well.
He looked around at them, his gaze calm, aloof, and domineering. "Considering your loyalty over the past millennia, I'll spare you this time. But I expect you to cherish this chance. Don't disappoint me again.
"Otherwise… you know what will happen."
Realizing Dusk had decided to forgive them, all of them let out long sighs of relief.
"Th-thank you for your mercy, my Lord!" Fursa looked like a man pulled out of a river, gasping for breath. "I swear I will not let you down!"
If even the Archbishop was shaken to this degree, the others wouldn't dare show a shred of disrespect. Each of them began swearing their unwavering loyalty.
Seeing that the timing was right, Dusk finally said with a flat tone, "Leave the Scepter of the End… and get out."
"The Scepter of the End? That…" Fursa's face twitched with hesitation.
The Scepter of the End wasn't just a sealing relic—it was also the symbol of authority within the Cult of the End. Handing it over like this stung deeply.
Dusk gave him a glance. "What? Are you unwilling?"
The tense atmosphere, which had just barely eased, snapped taut again.
Fursa's heart clenched. Only then did he realize what a foolish mistake he'd just made.
"I wouldn't dare!" He didn't hesitate a second longer. The ruby ring on his finger flashed with a crimson glow.
A staff materialized out of thin air—its top embedded with a dark red, diamond-shaped gem. Crimson light pulsed from it, giving it an eerie, almost sacred presence.
"The Scepter of the End has always belonged to our Lord. Of course, it must be returned to its rightful owner!" Fursa held the staff out with both hands, his face tense and reverent.
Dusk didn't argue. His attention was already fully drawn to the staff in front of him.
The moment he took it in hand, he felt a surge of violent, destructive energy pouring through his palm, flooding into his body like it was going to rip him apart from the inside out.
This thing's rejecting me?! Dusk was startled and instinctively prepared to let go.
But just then, he felt a sudden heat on his chest.
The rampaging energy vanished in an instant—gone as if it had never existed.
Parchment?
Dusk immediately realized what had intervened. His curiosity about Parchment and Amon deepened even further.
To suppress the power of the Lord of the End so effortlessly—clearly, they were more significant than he had imagined.
His goal now achieved, he cast a glance at the still-kneeling Fursa and the others.
Dusk was just about to dismiss them so he could quietly study the Scepter of the End and the mysteries behind Parchment.
Suddenly, a black-robed cleric burst into the chapel, panic written all over his face.
As soon as he stepped inside, he dropped to one knee with a thud and blurted out urgently, "Archbishop, it's bad! The Cult of the Dawn is attacking!"
"What?!" All four Bishops turned pale the moment they heard the news.
Quito, broad-shouldered like a black bear, sprang to his feet and barked angrily, "What the hell is Witt doing? How could he let the Cult of the Dawn find us here?!"
The cleric's face went ashen; he forced out a smile more pathetic than tears and stammered, "Bishop Witt betrayed us—he secretly joined the Cult of the Dawn, and Black-Mist City has fallen!
"Right now, the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire's forces have surrounded the End Church. Bishop Victor in his red robes and the Imperial War God Isaac are marching this way with their troops. They should be here in less than half an hour…"
The color drained from everyone's faces, and Dusk was utterly stunned.
In other words, this "Malevolent Deity" hadn't even held his title a full day before the "true believers" were about to be wiped out by the righteous forces?!
Quito slammed his fist into the ground in fury, his eyes bloodshot. "That damned traitor Witt! If I ever lay my hands on him, I'll make sure he suffers for it!"
Fursa, ever the Archbishop, forced himself to calm down. In a low, steady voice he declared, "What is there to panic about? The Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire are nothing! Even if all three empires and the three great churches came together, our Lord could obliterate them with a single gesture!"
At these words, Castor, Derrick, Nara—and even the trembling cleric—felt their hearts pound anew. They looked up at the young man standing before them—unremarkable in strength, yet impossibly straight and handsome. The fear on their faces melted away, replaced by resolve and confidence.
"Archbishop Fursa is right!" Castor stood, throwing back his head in a hearty laugh. "So what if the church falls? As long as our Lord stands with us, the Cult of the End remains the strongest sect on the Godforsaken Continent!"
Dusk's expression froze; he wanted to curse. How could he—a mere mortal—hope to stand against an army backed by church and empire? A single spit from any of them could drown him!
But Dusk knew that if he showed even the slightest doubt, Fursa and the others would suspect his true identity. So he steeled himself and spoke with calm assurance, "The Dawn… I didn't expect the first familiar face I'd meet upon my descent would be hers.
"Very well. It's been so many years—I'm curious to see if she's improved.
"Gather the faithful; we will go meet them together."
Though his heart quaked, Dusk forced himself to hold the line.
"As you command!" Fursa and the others bowed deeply, their voices ringing with sincerity.
They hurried out of the chapel to summon nearby Cult of the End members in Talros Town. The chapel fell silent, with only Dusk remaining.
After a few tense breaths and confirming he was unobserved, Dusk exhaled in relief.
"Alone, this staff won't be enough to handle the Cult of the Dawn's forces." He dropped onto the blood-red altar, twirling the Scepter of the End in his hand, brows furrowed.
If the Cult of the End has a high-tier sealing relic, then the Clinton Empire and the Cult of the Dawn must have similar—or greater—artifacts. By itself, this staff probably isn't enough.
Instinctively, he recalled the location information Raymond had given him.
If there were another option, Dusk didn't want any further entanglements with Raymond or Parchment. But it seemed there was no other way.
Unless…
The Scepter of the End spun in his hand, and Dusk's eyes flickered.
Should I run?
With the Scepter of the End in hand, he wasn't without hope of escaping alone. He could vanish into the skies, swim free in the seas—survive, and then use this High-Tier sealing relic to rapidly build power and carve out a place for himself in this world.
But after a moment's thought, Dusk abandoned the idea. He didn't know much about this world, but he understood one thing: it was a world of the supernaturally gifted. Even if he escaped the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire with the relic, he'd surely be hunted down within days.
As long as he stayed with the Cult of the End, they could share the burden. If the cult fell, he'd be left alone against two top-tier forces—and that would mean certain death.
So he couldn't leave. Not yet.
That meant there was only one way for him to survive…
Dusk rose from the blood-red altar and focused his mind. In the air before him, an ancient parchment unfurled.
[Location: North of Talros Town – Water-Spirit Lake]
…
Meanwhile, on a dusty country road some dozens of kilometers outside Talros Town, two armored cavalry detachments—one clad in gold, the other in black—spurred toward the town at a fierce gallop. Behind them stretched an endless sea of tens of thousands more horsemen.
"Are the remnants of the Cult of the End still holed up in that town?" asked the man in silver armor sitting at the head of a lavish carriage.
Beside him, an elderly figure in a red ceremonial robe and round cap gripped a gilded scepter. At the question, his eyes glinted with golden light. He nodded slightly. "Fursa's aura remains, but there are a few more presences in town than before. By their signatures, it seems Castor, Derrick, and Quito are moving toward us now."
Isaac, the Imperial War God in silver plate, sneered. "The Cult of the End's days are numbered. They know we're coming and still don't flee? I don't know whether to admire Fursa's courage or pity him for being so backward."
Bishop Victor of the Cult of the Dawn spoke calmly, "Very well. Let us send these filthy cultists to join their Lord of the End—that is their rightful destiny."
"Archbishop speaks truly." Isaac let out a light laugh, then his tone turned razor-sharp with murderous intent as he commanded, "All units, heed my orders: quicken the march! Spare not a single member of the Cult of the End. Upon our return, rewards shall be given according to each head taken!"
The air trembled violently as his voice exploded across the sky, reaching every soldier's ears.
Tens of thousands of troops raised their spears in unison, their battle cries shaking the heavens and piercing the clouds.
"Yes!!"
...
Meanwhile, in Talros Town:
The once–lively settlement lay deserted and desolate. Thousands of black-robed Cult of the End followers had gathered in the town square.
Fursa, Nara, Castor, and the others stood at the forefront, stirring the crowd to fervor.
Fursa spoke in a deep, urgent tone, "Bishop Witt has betrayed us, Black-Mist City has fallen, and the End Church is besieged! The dogs of the Cult of the Dawn and the beasts of the Clinton Empire are already marching toward us!
"Now is the moment that determines our survival or our doom!"
His words struck the silent square like a bomb dropped into still waters, sending ripples of shock through the crowd.
Those cultists who had no idea of the true situation felt as though they had been struck by lightning.
So the church was already lost… and they would soon be wiped out too?!
At the thought of facing the slaughter of the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire, many of the followers felt their knees grow weak.
The square erupted into chaos until Fursa frowned and roared, "Silence!!"
His voice, amplified by his magic, swept across the plaza, and within moments, every mouth fell still.
Yet the terror and uncertainty in the hearts of the cultists would not be so easily stilled—no one here desired death.
"You need only focus on your duties. Do not fear the outcome of this war—there is no need to despair!" Fursa swept his gaze over them, his gaunt face set with determination. "For our Lord has come!"
"With him among us, we shall assuredly triumph!"