Chapter 227: Religious War [3]
High above Oscros City, two figures stood suspended in the cold afternoon sky, looking down upon the mortal realm below.
Roy, maintaining his disguise as the aged and dignified Peerless Supreme Elder, stood beside High Priest Arnold.
His dark robes whipped violently in the mountain wind as his eyes swept over the urban expanse.
As he took in the full scope of the city beneath them, Roy’s silver eyebrows furrowed into a tight line.
Oscros City was no longer a bustling hub of trade and civilization; it was a smoking, desolate butcher’s yard.
Long trails of dark crimson blood stained the cobblestone streets, tracing pathways where bodies had been dragged or brutally dismembered.
Multiple stone buildings lay collapsed in ruined heaps of splintered wood and shattered brickwork, crushed under the reckless, unleashed mana of the Grey Paladins.
Lifeless corpses of commoners—men, women, and elderly merchants—littered the alleyways and doorways, left to rot in the dirt where they had fallen.
It was a sheer, unadulterated disaster orchestrated entirely by the holy envoys of the God of the Sky.
"What in the world happened here, High Priest?" Roy asked, his raspy, elderly voice echoing with deep gravity as he gestured down toward the carnage.
High Priest Arnold stood beside him, his hands tucked neatly into his long, white-and-gold sleeves.
He stared down at the ruined city with the exact same warm, picturesque smile he wore when walking through the peaceful halls of the sect.
"What you see before you, Elder Peerless, is simply the divine justice of the heavens," Arnold replied smoothly, his tone as light and pleasant as if he were describing a sunny afternoon in a garden.
"The people of Oscros City sinned grievously against the light. They chose to harbor dark heretics within their homes, shielding beast-worshiping scum from holy retribution. When offered the chance to repent and reveal the hidden traitors, they refused to speak."
Arnold let out a soft, melodic chuckle, turning his head slightly to look at Roy.
"They brought the anger of the heavens upon themselves. They simply paid the natural price for their defiance with their lives."
Without waiting for a response, Arnold began his slow descent toward the mortal streets, his white robes fluttering gracefully.
Roy followed beside him, his expression an unreadable mask of weathered stone as their boots touched down on the cold, damp cobblestones of a main commercial avenue.
The street was utterly, terrifyingly desolate.
Not a single living soul walked the thoroughfare.
The market stalls were overturned, their goods crushed and covered in mud.
A suffocating stench of metallic blood, copper, and loose bowels hung thick in the air, so dense it made the cold draft feel heavy and sickening.
Every few paces, gruesome scenes of absolute cruelty presented themselves.
The corpse of an old woman lay slouched against a stone basin, her throat crushed so violently that her neck was twisted at a sickening, right-angle bend.
A few feet away, two middle-aged men lay stacked over one another, their chests caved in from explosive mana impacts, their eyes wide open and glassy, frozen forever in expressions of pure, screaming terror and agonizing pain.
Dried blood had pooled in the gutters, forming sticky, dark red ice under the biting wind.
Roy stood amidst the horror, his golden-crimson eyes scanning the horrific wreckage with absolute, complete indifference.
He knew what he had done.
He knew that by instructing Manuses to execute the Paladin in such a horrific, untraceable manner, he had deliberately poked the arrogant bear—forcing the zealots of the Sky God to snap and unleash their worst, most violent impulses upon the innocent population.
For a brief, fleeting second, Roy attempted to feel a pang of guilt.
He tried to muster a drop of sympathy or pity for the thousands of helpless, mundane mortals who had been slaughtered as collateral damage in his grand strategy.
Yet, deep within his chest, there was nothing.
Not a single spark of remorse. Not a flicker of sadness.
To a divine entity forging a path to supreme authority, these mortals were merely water flowing through a river, stone tiles on a chessboard.
Their blood was simply the ink required to write the history of the Church of the God of Beast.
Roy inhaled deeply, taking in the blood-scented air without flinching, before turning his head toward the red-haired cleric beside him.
"High Priest Arnold," Roy spoke slowly, his raspy voice steady. "Why have you brought me to this specific place? If you came here expecting to investigate or track the Apostle... it seems entirely pointless.
There is not a single trace of heretical magic or beastial aura left in these ruins."
High Priest Arnold gave a slow, approving nod, his gentle smile remaining firmly fixed upon his handsome face.
"Of course I know that, Elder Peerless," Arnold answered softly, stepping over a puddle of drying blood and turning to face Roy directly in the middle of the ruined street.
"I am well aware there are no tracks to follow here. My Paladins have already thoroughly scrubbed the district."
Arnold folded his hands over his chest, his blue eyes gleaming with an intense, sharp light that pierced through the gloomy, overcast day.
"I brought you here for a far more practical reason," Arnold explained, his voice dropping into a clear, echoing register.
"This ruined, silent city provides us with a completely private space—free from the prying eyes of Sect Leader Mao or the other narrow-minded fools of your sect. It is the perfect stage for us to finalize our arrangements."
The cleric stepped closer, stopping just three paces from where Roy stood.
"Tell me, Peerless Supreme Elder..." Arnold asked, his smile narrowing slightly into something cold and demanding.
"Give me your final answer. Will you join hands with the Holy Church of the God of the Sky, take up the position of Priest, and serve as my blade within the sect... or will you cling to a dying institution?"
The cold mountain wind howled down the narrow alleyway, tossing Roy’s silver hair across his wrinkled disguise.
Roy inhaled deeply, staring into the cleric’s eyes.
He maintained his stoic, contemplative expression, letting a raspy sigh escape his lips.
"And if I refuse?" Roy asked quietly, his golden-crimson eyes narrowing. "What happens to an old elder who chooses to say no to the Holy Church?"
High Priest Arnold’s smile remained on his face, but his blue eyes flashed with a sudden, lethal threat that made the cold air freeze.
Before the cleric could utter a single word in response—
BOOM!
A terrifying, mountain-shaking explosion violently detonated just a few hundred meters down the main avenue!
The sheer force of the sudden shockwave ripped through the street, instantly blowing out every remaining glass window, shattering wooden storefronts into thousands of flying splinters, and sending a massive plume of dark smoke, stone debris, and screaming silver-armored bodies soaring high into the afternoon sky.