The Holy Church Begins with Bestowal of Blessings

Chapter 234: Projection of the Plane of Annihilation

Puniel’s words left the two men silent for a long time. They wondered whether they themselves could achieve such efficiency.

They were Knights of the Church of the Sanctuary, but after all, they were only two people. Those mercenaries alone—just the ones moving on the surface—numbered more than forty. And what about those still inside the underground city?

In the end, Vito forced out a sentence:

“‘If there are dark creatures they cannot handle, notify us at once.’”

Puniel replied:

“‘Of course. We only wish to make our home cleaner, not to throw away our lives.’”

And so the two Knights returned directly to the Church of the Sanctuary.

The mercenaries here were full of awe toward them. With the Knights present, the mercenaries could not act freely. At the same time, the Knights themselves did not wish to linger long in such a place filled with greed and desire.

As for the task of cleaning out the dark creatures in this region, they felt that with these enthusiastic mercenaries present, the efficiency was far higher than what the two of them could achieve alone.

Once he had sent off the two Guardian Knights, Puniel finally let out a breath of relief, followed by genuine joy.

Besides the valuable dark creatures present here, the underground city itself was also an extremely important place.

This layer upon layer of folded underground world was naturally a realm that could conceal the radiance of the Morning Star.

…

But it could not conceal the gaze of Corleon.

Just moments ago, Corleon’s will had witnessed a fortunate mercenary discover a heavily rusted two-handed greatsword within the underground city.

It emanated a thick aura of blood, as though it possessed its own instinctive will. It seized upon the mercenary’s greed, then used that greed to invade the man’s soul, ultimately seizing control of his body. The mercenary then swung the greatsword—the corroded blade instantly cleaving apart his teammate’s body. The teammate’s upper half fell to the ground, eyes still filled with confusion, internal organs spilling everywhere, while the blood seemed to be sucked directly into the greatsword.

This was no Holy Relic of a dark creature. Rather, it was like a unique lifeform with its own will.

After absorbing the blood, the two-handed greatsword’s brown rust turned scarlet before slowly fading away, returning once again to its corroded appearance.

Thump, thump—like the beating of a heart. It seemed alive, controlling the mercenary it had possessed, launching a slaughter deeper into the underground city. Whether human or dark creature, anything in its path was cut down and drained of blood.

It seemed to have a goal. It went further and further down until it reached the very last level—the eighteenth floor—before finally stopping.

This space, compared to those above, was very narrow, containing only a single altar. The mercenary thrust the rusted greatsword into the altar’s center, then retreated a few steps, kneeling and prostrating himself beneath the altar.

The brown rust slowly turned scarlet, and then murky blood began dripping from the sword’s tip, filling the altar’s carved patterns.

“‘Haah’”

Like a sigh after waking from a long sleep, the first sound echoed.

The altar then radiated a crimson light, instantly staining the entire space. It was like a force ripping and eroding, dragging the altar into another world.

Here, the sky was blood-red like liquid, while on the ground stood a massive arena. In the center of the arena was that mercenary holding the two-handed greatsword.

At this moment, the mercenary now held a brand-new greatsword in both hands. His eyes glowed red as he looked forward.

From where his gaze landed, a giant nearly five meters tall slowly emerged. The giant’s body was bare, his frame scrawny despite bulging bones that pressed against wrinkled skin.

The giant stepped into the arena, then suddenly let out a roar and charged at the mercenary.

The ground shook violently as the giant approached. With a sudden leap, he clenched both fists and slammed them down at the earth.

Boom! The force was so immense it made the entire arena tremble.

The mercenary, however, had already leapt back nimbly, avoiding the blow. When the giant landed, the mercenary steadied himself with trembling legs, then lunged forward, swinging his greatsword down. The sharp blade tore open the giant’s skin, ripping through gaunt muscles before finally being caught on thick fingers.

The giant roared loudly, raised his hand, and lifted the mercenary into the air. His grip tightened until the mercenary’s entire body was crushed into pieces. The mercenary died without even managing a scream.

“‘Ah, what a boring duel.’”

The voice resounded, as though conversing with Corleon’s will.

“‘Why are humans now so weak? Not even one who has picked up my Token of the Arena can kill an ordinary giant.’”

“‘Have I slept too long, or are humans on the brink of extinction?’”

Corleon could not perceive the other’s will—or perhaps this place itself was the other’s will.

“‘Yes, this is my will—or rather, a fragment of it. This is the projection of my Plane of Annihilation,’” the other replied kindly, as though answering Corleon’s unspoken question.

“‘You are the Lord of Annihilation of the Plane of Annihilation?’” Corleon asked.

“‘Yes, I am the incarnation of battle—the Lord of Annihilation, Antigone.’”

Antigone continued: “‘This is my arena. Here, those who have obtained my token, found my altar, and offered the proof of being a warrior—the blood of their enemies—may come to this place to duel against any lifeform. And the victor may claim all that belongs to the defeated.’”

“‘Life, strength, wealth—the loser loses all, and the winner gains everything.’”

Within the Clock Tower, Corleon opened his eyes. His golden brilliance slowly dimmed before he finally closed them again.

In the eighteenth floor of the underground city, within the projection of Antigone’s Plane of Annihilation, Antigone’s voice echoed once more:

“‘Ah, there is no need to look. This is Annihilation. This is chaos. Time and space hold no meaning here. Even though you and I are of the same level, you cannot peer into the essence of Annihilation.’”

“‘But I do not seem to recognize you. You are not one of those seven fools who sicken me, nor any of those disgraceful thieves. Then, what are you?’”

“‘Do you intend to invade the present world?’” Corleon asked.

“‘Ha! Invade the present world? No, no, no. I have no such dull interests. Only the Lord of Dominion wishes to intrude upon reality. As for me, I care only for duels.’” Antigone replied.

“‘I was awakened from my slumber, expecting to see an entertaining duel, but instead, I found this dull spectacle.’”

Antigone’s tone was bored, yet tinged with the anger of having been mocked.

“‘Ah, unknown existence, would you not like to engage in a thrilling duel? I could grant you a god as your opponent. If you win, you would gain everything that god possesses.’”

Corleon gave no response, instead asking:

“‘How does one enter Annihilation?’”

“‘Enter Annihilation? Hahaha, it is simple. With a Lord’s permission, you may freely come and go. Without it, no existence can enter the Plane of Annihilation. Of course, I can promise you this: as long as you fight a duel for me—present me with a battle worthy of spectacle—I shall grant you the right to enter Annihilation.’”

“‘How many Lords are there among you?’” Corleon asked further.

“…‘Unknown existence, I have already shown you sufficient respect. Yet you seem unwilling to return me the same courtesy.’”

Antigone’s voice grew disinterested.

“‘Boring. Truly boring.’” His voice faded away, and then vanished.

The projection of the Plane of Annihilation gradually dissipated, restoring the space to the pitch-black underground city.

The rusted greatsword fell to the ground. Corleon sensed that its will had completely vanished, and the mercenary’s body was gone without a trace.

Glancing once at the silent altar, Corleon’s will faded away.

…

The Lords of Annihilation were chaos itself, while the ‘Lord’ and Original Sin were two extremes.

This was why Corleon could completely suppress the Original Sin, but when facing the chaos of the Lords of Annihilation, it was not the same absolute dominance.

Corleon recalled what the Original Sin had told him—that the Lord of Dominion of the Plane of Annihilation had already lowered his anchor. With only the Church of the Sanctuary as it was now, they could not resist a true descent of the Lord of Dominion.

Nor did Corleon believe that the other Lords of Annihilation would sit idly by.

Yet what he himself had seen was a future not far away, a world warped as though shrouded by countless veils of mist.

That was an existence equal to him obscuring his sight. With only the revelation of these golden eyes, he could no longer peer into the future.

Corleon stood up, closed his eyes, and entered the space of light. At this moment, the Light Orb was already filled with countless threads—most of them faint and indistinct.

With the Faith the Light Orb now carried, it was already enough to nurture a Commandment of the Pope. Yet for Corleon, who had already embraced the power of Faith, such Commandments held no meaning.

He extended a finger toward the Light Orb and tapped it. The Light Orb quivered before emitting a glowing point with a trailing tail. It floated upward, then split, and split again, countless times—until finally it resembled a tree of interwoven threads growing out of the Light Orb itself.

But this growth halted, unable to continue.

Corleon’s gaze wavered slightly, but in the end, he still infused his will into it.

Perhaps it was a single instant, or perhaps an infinite span of time. Corleon seemed to hear countless prayers: some pure wishes, others selfish greed. These voices seemed to come from the past, the present, and even the future.

And his will, like the tree of threads, was split countless times, trembling as it continued to divide and grow.

In this world of light, threads twisted and coiled, growing endlessly like a torrent of woven strands.

Suddenly, within the torrent, golden points of light dimmed one after another, falling away like a golden rain until only a single long thread remained, stretching endlessly backward.

Its extension slowed, then finally stopped.

The thread contracted and twisted, condensing into Corleon’s form within the world of light.

He stretched out his hand and caught the last golden point that had fallen.

Looking at the Light Orb, he saw it now weak and listless, struggling even to remain afloat. The threads of Faith seemed to be the only thing sustaining it.

Clutching the golden point, Corleon’s will returned to his body.

In that instant, his body dissolved into golden radiance, leaving behind only a pair of resplendent golden eyes.

From the eyes, golden power of Faith slowly flowed out, filling the space until it once again condensed into Corleon’s body.

His gaze grew colder.

He waved his hand. Several white doves flew in through the window, blinking their eyes at him as they always did.

Corleon spoke not a word, nor moved. Yet within the tubes on the doves’ legs appeared scrolls of written letters.

Spreading their wings, the doves flew out the window toward their destinations.