Chapter 192: Such Arrogance

“You only wanted to say that to me?” George said.

“…Hahaha.” The air fell silent, then the wolf head raised and opened its mouth wide, its body trembling as ripples like water spread outwards, resounding with Ymir’s booming laughter, brimming with mockery. George frowned as he listened.

Laughing, Ymir said, “As expected, even someone who believes in the Holy Scriptures, like you, is filled with the arrogance of mankind.”

“I don’t know if my behavior seems arrogant to you,” George began, “but in my eyes, what I see is you Werewolves slaughtering humans, hunting them as prey.”

“This entire Marquisate held close to one hundred and thirty thousand people. Now, only around twenty thousand remain alive in the land controlled by Baron Belair. In the territories occupied by you Werewolves, who knows if there are even three thousand still alive.”

“And the more than one hundred thousand who vanished were all killed by Werewolves. So, in my eyes, Werewolves are the enemy of mankind, and my enemy. Nothing more.”

“The Bishop said I was unfit to serve as a Priest in the Church, and I only understood why a while ago. It’s because I can’t distinguish lies on my own, nor can I understand political compromises by myself. So I’m only suited to be a Knight who doesn’t need to think about all that, only hold firm in my Faith.”

“Therefore, this war of races you speak of may be true or may be a lie. I don’t care to investigate. That’s for the Apprentices of the history discipline to ponder. I only need to uphold my Faith, trust in what I see, and follow the guidance of the Lord.”

As he spoke, George raised the sword in his hand, and then Holy Light gathered on the blade.

“Heh, such arrogance indeed.” Ymir’s laughter ceased. He stood, and in the gradually intensifying Holy Light, said in a low voice, “Then, Knight, let’s make a deal.”

“I’ll give you the people in Paradise—nearly thirty thousand humans—and this Temple Warrior too. I’ll have all my children retreat back into the Northwind Mountains. I’ll give this land to you. I promise the Earth Vein of this land is still healthy. In just two years, it can thrive again.”

“I am now the king of this land. If I give it to you, you will become a noble of mankind.”

“And I have only one condition: retreat now. For half a year—no, one month—you must not set foot on this land.”

As he spoke, George only raised the sword imbued with Holy Light.

“I said, I only believe in what I see and follow the Lord’s guidance. And the Lord tells me, you are not to be trusted, and that I must attack you.”

Then he swung down with force.

Boom—a surging Golden Torrent blasted forth, severing Ymir’s two left limbs. Yet the giant black wolf remained motionless, letting its body fall, pitch-black eyes watching George with a divine, cold indifference. The severed legs twisted and melted into black streams, flowing back toward the wounds.

“Knight, remember this—this land was killed by your arrogant choice.” The giant wolf did not move its mouth, yet Ymir’s voice resounded.

The pitch-black ground began rippling like water, retracting and converging into the wolf’s body, filling the gray power leaking from the fallen beast.

“Even if this land truly dies because of it, it is still something I must do,” George exhaled hot breath and said.

At that moment, a golden arrow shot down in front of the giant wolf, drawing the attention of both man and beast.

“An arrow? Someone else is here?” The giant wolf’s deep voice held a trace of confusion.

Suddenly, George sharply looked up to the sky.

The giant wolf, following George’s movement, also gazed upward.

Then it saw—the obscuring dark clouds were slowly torn apart. Like golden raindrops, something fell from above the clouds. Through the widening gap, the light of the Morning Star gradually pierced through, shining down upon the earth.

The rippling waves on the black land, as if soothed by that light, slowly calmed.

“Is it you…” The giant wolf’s voice was still deep, then the blackness in its eyes dispersed, revealing Crimson Eyes.

The Crimson Eyes first showed confusion, then, under the radiance of the Morning Star, emitted a scream as if scalded.

“…How could the cloud I gathered with divine power be torn open? Is that the power of the Morning Star?” Ymir’s voice no longer rumbled like thunder but instead roared with the same rage and terror George had once heard.

Then Ymir suddenly seemed to notice George, who was panting beside him, and roared.

“Why are you here?! Was this your doing?” But before he could continue raging, a scream burst out—”My divine throne! My kingdom! Who did this?! Was it you, Wrath?! Have you not been banished yet?!”

His body, now lacking two legs, struggled to rise, but just then, the golden rain fell near. One could now see clearly—those golden raindrops were actually countless golden arrows.

“No! I can’t die like this! I still must become the Wolf God! I am the Wolf God!” Ymir screamed in panic and madness, and then, the moment the golden arrows reached him, the giant wolf’s body froze.

Boom boom boom boom boom boom—the Golden Arrow Rain rained down upon the ground. Its tremendous power made the earth tremble. The black grass and trees were torn apart, layers of ink-like darkness peeled back, revealing normal earth buried beneath.

In the center of the Arrow Rain, George was spared, but he felt like countless shockwaves swept past him. He had to stab his sword into the ground to anchor himself, preventing being blown away by the chaotic currents from the explosions.

He heard no sound from Ymir—perhaps drowned by the blasts, or perhaps already erased.

George was only worried about Hode, who had been bound—but in this chaos, he could barely keep himself from being blown away.

The Arrow Rain gradually dispersed. The earth slowly returned to stillness. Only then did George relax his tense body.

His ears buzzed, as if the explosions still echoed within.

He stood up and looked toward the sky. Only at the edge of his vision could he see the dense clouds remaining.

Sweeping his gaze around, the ground had been turned over by the Arrow Rain. The thick blackness and vegetation were gone, the area bombarded into a rugged wasteland.

George suddenly remembered the craters he had seen when meeting the Patriarch before—each like a lake.

Shaking his head, George saw something else on this barren land—something besides himself.

A Cross, with Hode bound to it.

At his chest, a golden arrow had pierced through, slowly sinking into his heart, which still beat faintly. The place pierced by the arrow seemed as if held in place by a finger.

George hesitated for a moment, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he let out a breath and collapsed to the ground.

But before he could catch his breath, he suddenly stood up and carefully moved the Cross binding Hode. At the intersection of the Cross, there was a deep, bottomless hole—small at the opening, but George could tell it was large enough for a small wolf to pass through.

He gripped his sword tightly, then sighed and finally relaxed.

…

York Territory, Church of the Sanctuary, top of the Clock Tower.

This was the highest point of the Church of the Sanctuary, and the highest point in the entire York Territory. The massive clock loomed above, and from here one could see parts of York Town with the naked eye.

It was in some disarray.

The construction of the new city had already been decided, and Cicero was now excitedly planning it—after all, it was the largest canvas he had ever touched.

Meanwhile, York Town kept erupting with disturbances.

Drunks crazed from cheap Rye Beer, merchants yelling about stolen goods and urging hired guards to chase thieves, or people fighting over petty grievances, smashing stalls and homes as the brawl escalated.

Most of these acts were orchestrated by someone.

Some to express dissatisfaction with the move, others to demonstrate influence to the Senate in hopes of being granted new power, or to kill enemies amidst the chaos, or simply madness from drunkenness.

As for who was behind it all, even Bishop Corleon, using Revelation, found the web of connections dizzying.

So he didn’t bother paying it much attention.

He put away the Hunting Fang.

The Holy Relic that looked like a winged bow slowly faded back to its original brown form. The black gemstone upon it appeared dim, as if its power had been drained.

Which, in fact, it had.

Corleon had drawn it fully twice.

Usually, one draw would nearly deplete the Hunting Fang’s power. To fully recharge it without a Ritual would take at least half a year.

Yet Corleon, ignoring that, drew it again. This time not to unleash the Holy Relic’s power, but to draw part of its essence and fire it off.

Corleon found the Hunting Fang quite convenient. As long as he could see it, he could hit it.

Combined with Revelation, Corleon could attack anywhere on the map, with only slight delay due to distance. For example, hitting George’s location had taken two breaths.

While it was troublesome to avoid harming someone in the Arrow Rain, if it was just the two Church members connected to Corleon, it was manageable.

The only downside was the long downtime of this Holy Relic.

The body holding the bow suddenly vanished and reappeared on the fourth floor of the Clock Tower, where Holy Relics were stored.

Currently, it remained mostly empty—only five Holy Relics, including the Hunting Fang, were there.

Cicero had built the Clock Tower under Corleon’s guidance with seven levels.

The first floor was a wide hall, where Monks were promoted to Priests.

The second was a vast library. The books from Corleon’s old study at the Great Church had been moved in, though it remained sparse, with only a few selected originals.

The third held carved stone tablets, each telling a story. Now there were only three.

The fourth stored the Holy Relics. The fifth was Corleon’s residence. The sixth held the clock’s internal mechanisms.

The seventh and top floor was open on all sides, holding a great bell that rang every New Year.

In a way, a seven-story Clock Tower, built with current technology, was already a marvel in the eyes of commoners.

Cicero had even secretly added enhancements during construction, and after its completion, Corleon personally bestowed a Blessing upon it.

Because of this, Oscar Brian, sensing something amiss, had requested to study the Clock Tower.

But Cicero drove him away with a Holy Relic used for digging.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep