Chapter 767

Chapter 767
Julien sensed his clarity beginning to fade into a dark fog. Even with his ascended physical capabilities, he had found it impossible to outpace Munareff. The enemy had reached his destination, his palm already darting toward Deneb. In that desperate heartbeat, Julien’s only recourse was to interpose his own body as a shield.

“……”

He had nothing left to give. Every spark of his internal energy had been depleted; he lacked even the smallest reserve to harden his own skin for protection. Consequently, the strike from Munareff tore through his ribs and sank deep into his chest. Yet, he refused to let his knees hit the dirt.

‘I must last until Ereneth gets here…’

He knew Ghislain and Grondal were fully occupied by their own adversaries. While Rahamod and Tagmah were certainly struggling, Ereneth was the only ally with the potential to break away and assist. He had to endure—somehow—until that arrival.

‘Just a few more seconds…’

Julien gathered the final embers of his strength to pull Deneb into a tight embrace. His personal survival had become a secondary thought. His entire existence was narrowed down to the singular purpose of keeping her from harm. Then, it happened—

Fwaaah!

A brilliance that surpassed all human vocabulary erupted, washing over his frame. Ah… Even as his mind slipped toward the abyss, a smile touched Julien’s lips. He understood, through a primal intuition, that Deneb was now beyond danger. The radiance felt like a mother’s touch—a warmth so profound it could turn the sharpest steel. It was a serene, comforting blanket that sought out every agony. The searing pain from the cavity in his chest began to ebb away. Enveloped in that expanding heat, Julien finally let go and drifted into unconsciousness.

Soon, the luminescence surged outward, saturating every corner of the environment. The combatants stood paralyzed, their attention captured by the sheer majesty of the glow. It appeared as a genuine miracle—a fragment of the divine descending to the mortal plane. However, the light did not bring peace to everyone.

Ssssssshhhhh!

“Grrraaaagh!”

The clergy of the Salvation Order began to howl, their features contorting in horrific agony. To them, the light acted as a corrosive acid, searing their flesh and boiling their blood. For them, the act of breathing became a source of excruciating torture. Rahamod and Tagmah were not spared; in fact, due to the sheer magnitude of their dark power, they appeared to suffer more intensely than their subordinates.

Conversely, for the others, the sensation was the polar opposite. The glow bathed their injuries, dissolving pain and stitching together shattered bones and weary spirits. Ghislain let out a booming laugh as he felt his vitality being restored. Most of the others were still too shocked to comprehend the shift, even Grondal could only stare upward, mesmerized by the celestial beam falling from the heavens.

‘So, this is the reality of it…’

This specific event—this literal miracle—had never been recorded with any accuracy until this very moment. It was the reason Deneb would be remembered as the “first true Saintess.”

Channeling.

It was a bridge to a supreme entity existing beyond the physical dimensions—a feat of wonder that only a Saintess could achieve. Now, Deneb had manifested it in the waking world. Once this influence was triggered, there was no escaping it. It was a power that overrode the fundamental laws of nature—a form of celestial retribution. Regardless of the individual strength of Rahamod and Tagmah, they were powerless against this. In the annals of future history, no soul had ever survived this manifestation…

Ghislain thought briefly of Alfoy but dismissed the thought. That instance had been a fluke, a series of improbable accidents.

Ssshhhhhh!

Despite the agonizing heat consuming his body, Rahamod remained fixated on Deneb.

“Wh… what is this… How can a power of this scale exist…?”

He was genuinely speechless. This was an absolute divine authority that transcended any known theology. That force was now the sovereign of the battlefield. Everywhere the light touched his skin, it left a scorched trail. Yet, that was not the extent of his dilemma.

‘M-my limbs… they won’t obey…’

An intangible, colossal weight was grinding his body into the earth. Retreat was impossible. Gasping for breath, Rahamod shifted his eyes toward Ghislain. While everyone else stood frozen by the incomprehensible event, the man before him was actually grinning. In a voice that trembled with strain, Rahamod spoke:

“You… you recognize this power, don’t you?”

“It’s Channeling.”

“What… what does that mean?”

“It is a direct link. To a goddess.”

“……!!”

Rahamod’s pupils dilated in shock. He was not alone in his horror. Tagmah, Ereneth, Lionel, and even Grondal were equally stunned. A direct link to a goddess? None of them had ever fathomed such a connection was possible. How could a mortal being establish a tether to a deity?

Despite the crushing gravity, Rahamod forced his head to turn. Deneb was cradling the limp Julien. From her very being, the holy radiance continued to stream down from the sky. Rahamod whispered in a stupor:

“How is this possible… This should be impossible…”

A deity, who theoretically should have no influence over the material realm, was actively intervening. He could grasp the concept of a priestess acting as a vessel, but the mechanics of such a feat remained a mystery to him. Then, his eyes caught another source of the brilliance.

“…No… could it be…?”

The pendant around Deneb’s neck was pulsating with light—or specifically, the gemstone housed within it. That glow was synchronized with the pillar of light striking Deneb from above.

“A Sacred Stone? You are saying that girl… can control a Sacred Stone? That her physical form can actually endure the essence of a god…?”

At those words, Ghislain’s smile turned predatory.

“Exactly. Deneb is the legitimate ‘Saintess.’”

“Saintess…”

It wasn’t as if the title hadn’t been used before, but it had always been a mere formality—a symbolic designation for high-ranking clergy with significant talent. But now, everyone present in Vallscrum understood the truth. They saw what a real Saintess represented. The one who receives a response from the divine. The one who anchors a god’s power to the dirt. From this day forward, the word ‘Saintess’ would hold an entirely different significance.

Ghislain slowly adjusted the grip on his blade and looked at Rahamod.

“You mentioned ‘Sacred Stone’ just now. What exactly do you know about them?”

Rahamod did not immediately respond. He locked eyes with Ghislain for a long silence before finally forcing the words out.

“So… you truly are ignorant of the nature of the Sacred Stones.”

“……”

“The Pope… he clearly lacks the knowledge as well. If he understood… he never would have allowed that girl to walk free.”

“Hmph… So the Sacred Stones really are a lethal threat to your kind, aren’t they?”

“No matter your efforts… you will never grasp their true function.”

“Hmm… I’m not so sure. Perhaps they are something that can break you. Like… an artifact capable of sealing the Demonic Realm?”

Rahamod’s expression instantly turned rigid. Ghislain watched him closely. He had thrown that out as a blind guess based on his knowledge of what was to come, and it seemed he had struck a nerve. Even if he couldn’t be certain based solely on a reaction, it was undeniable that the Sacred Stone had an impact on the Demonic Realm. And with Deneb’s awakening… it proved the stone was more than worth the trouble of acquiring.

Rahamod stopped talking to Ghislain. His vision was centered on one target: Deneb. She had already been classified as a high-level threat. Now that her status as a true Saintess was confirmed, she had to be eliminated.

Grrrnnnnch!

Rahamod ground his teeth together, tightening his stance against Ghislain. He was incinerating his very life force to stay upright, turning his hair to a ghost-white color.

“Executor… Slay that girl. Now!”

At the command, Munareff fought through his own pain, forcing his limbs to move.

“Ggghhhh!”

Even the Executor’s body was blistering under the downpour of divinity. He realized the gravity of the moment. He couldn’t survive in this light for long; every lungful of air felt like inhaling liquid fire.

“Graaagh!”

With a guttural shout, Munareff ripped his hand out of Julien’s torso. Igniting his remaining life essence, he lunged toward Deneb. But his attack never landed. It wasn’t just the pressure stopping him.

“Th-this is impossible…”

One of his arms was simply missing. Specifically, the arm that had penetrated Julien’s body. It had vanished—dissolved into nothingness as if its existence had been erased from reality without him even feeling the severance.

“Aaaaaagh!”

Munareff screamed in sheer panic, stumbling back. In his terror, his eyes met Deneb’s. She was still holding Julien, and her gaze was devoid of malice or anger. It was calm, yet it possessed a regal authority that demanded submission. Within the vortex of holy power, Deneb whispered softly:

“Goddess… let your command manifest in this place.”

Fwoooooom!

Another tide of light surged across the field. Munareff was swallowed whole by the divine wave.

“Gaaaaaaah!”

Dense black smoke erupted from his form. The shadows within him writhed, unable to endure the purity of the light. They burned, trying desperately to flee a source that offered no shadow. Finally, Munareff collapsed, twitching on the ground.

“P-please… have mercy! Hrrkkk!”

His combat spirit was utterly extinguished. Even his fanaticism had crumbled. All that remained was a base, animalistic urge to live. But the radiance did not relent. Soon, it began to expand further, as if to cover the entirety of Vallscrum.

In the distance, the dwarves engaged in the thick of the fight felt the celestial glow wash over them. They were bewildered, yet they instantly felt a transformation they couldn’t explain.

“Wh-what is happening…?”

Their gashes began to close. Broken limbs snapped back into alignment. Vigor flooded back into their shaking legs.

“Our bodies… they’re being mended?”

And then, a sight even more miraculous occurred before them.

Guuuuuaaaaaaah!

The legions of undead and chimeras pressing in from all sides began to shriek in agony as they fell. Those caught in the light disintegrated into ash, scattered by the wind. The monstrous chimeras fell apart as the dark enchantments holding them together dissolved.

“Graaaaah!”

The dark sorcerers and the Salvation Order priests collapsed in torment, their bodies consumed by holy embers. The dwarves still didn’t understand the source of the miracle, but they knew one thing instinctively:

This was their chance to turn the tide.

A massive, unified roar shook the battlefield.

“Uwaaaaaaah!”

“This is our moment! They’re breaking!”

“The light is our ally! Advance!”

The dwarves yelled as one, the fire of battle returning to their eyes. In the hearts of soldiers who had been drowning in hopelessness, the spark of triumph was reborn. The iron-clad dwarves launched a massive, thunderous counter-attack. With every strike, undead were obliterated, and chimeras were butchered without any resistance. Even the dark smog that had choked the sky was being burned away by the radiance.

“Victory is ours! The light guides us!”

“Crush them! Shatter this darkness!”

“The dark shall freeze, and we shall burn!”

War cries echoed from every flank—a symphony that sounded like the final decree of their victory.

Rahamod, looking gaunt and defeated, still could not look away from Deneb. Ghislain slowly withdrew his blade from Rahamod’s gut. The shadows that had once restrained him had been incinerated. But Rahamod didn’t even acknowledge Ghislain. He just kept looking at Deneb. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of despair.

“…We have made the most catastrophic error of our lives.”

There was a profound sense of failure in his voice. They had recognized the threat far too late. They should have seen it when they let the elven High Chief live. Their true nemesis was that girl. Now, the Church would face a far more grueling conflict. That girl—the Saintess—would crush them under the weight of the goddesses’ power. And the bitter irony was that they had been the ones to trigger her awakening. They hadn’t just failed; they had manufactured their own executioner. For that, he felt a crushing sense of regret.

As Rahamod stared blankly at Deneb, Ghislain pointed his sword at him.

“You were a formidable opponent. Part of me wanted to face you as my true self.”

“……”

“If you have any final words, say them. It’s a mark of respect I show to the powerful.”

Only then did Rahamod shift his focus to Ghislain. His expression was now tranquil—settled.

“I also offer my respect for your prowess. I will not forget you, even in the afterlife. However…”

He continued, locking eyes with Ghislain with a heavy, somber look.

“…When the most radiant light eventually fades, our monarch shall emerge.”

It was both a caution and a prophecy. Perhaps it was the last hope they had of countering the Saintess. Ghislain’s brow twitched. He recalled a figure from his visions who stood in opposition to the Saintess.

The Adversary.

This was surely who Rahamod meant. Ghislain offered no further conversation. He silently brought his sword down across Rahamod’s neck.

Swick!

Rahamod, the prophet and one of the Apostles from Ghislain’s memories—one of the most powerful beings to exist—

—his head rolled upon the earth.