Chapter 768

Chapter 768
Tagmah watched with eyes full of rage as Rahamod’s severed head hit the dirt.

His breath hitched. He fought with every fiber of his being to move, but his vitality had been completely sapped. Trapped within the turbulent wake of celestial energy, his limbs refused to respond.

“Ghhh… Why… how could this occur…?”

The sounds escaping his mouth were less like words and more like a primal shriek of fury and hopelessness. Success had been inches away. Just a single moment more and victory would have been secured.

Then—the Saintess had arrived.

No one had anticipated such a variable. With her presence, the entire momentum of the conflict had shifted into a nightmare for his side. All around him, the clerics and necromancers of his unit were falling like dominoes.

Tagmah ground his teeth together, forcing his body forward with the final sparks of his life force.

“Grondal!!”

He let out a bestial howl, lunging forward. His goal was simple: to drag the King of the Dwarves into the grave with him. However, his feeble strike was no match for Grondal, who had already regained his footing.

Thud.

Grondal parried the blow without effort. At this stage, Tagmah was effectively a commoner; the terrifying pressure he once exerted had vanished entirely.

“…Wonders always manifest when they are least expected.”

Grondal’s heavy voice echoed through the clearing. Everyone present had just witnessed a phenomenon. That single event had effectively declared Vallscrum the victor of this campaign.

“Now that the authentic Saintess has emerged, your faction has met with another failure.”

As if pronouncing a death sentence, Grondal hoisted his polearm. Tagmah glared up at him, choking on his final breaths.

“…When the purest radiance arrives, our sovereign shall ascend.”

“A sovereign, is it?”

Grondal let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter.

“You believe that individual will surpass the Saintess who wields the very authority of the goddess?”

“If she is the goddesses’ instrument… then our King is the instrument of the god we follow. No matter your resistance, you will eventually bow before Him. It was our deity, after all, who cast your goddesses down.”

“Fine. In that case… I’ll just take his head next.”

Crack!

Grondal snapped his halberd across, and Tagmah’s head was ripped away instantly. Nearby, another priest of the Salvation Order screamed in pain as the divine energy tore through him before Ereneth delivered the killing blow.

Munareff, meanwhile, was attempting to slink away on his hands and knees. His pupils were dilated with pure panic, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps like a trapped animal.

Ghislain walked toward him, his gaze cold and detached.

“I warned you, didn’t I? I told you I’d spare you once—but that if we crossed paths again, you were a dead man.”

“U-uhhh…”

Munareff continued to scramble across the earth, desperate for a way out. Ghislain simply lifted his blade and brought it down with a heavy thud against Munareff’s neck.

Swish!

Lacking even the spirit to fight back, Munareff’s head rolled away. Ghislain pushed his hair back from his forehead and muttered to himself.

“You see? This is the consequence of picking a fight with someone just trying to enjoy a walk.”

The events in the elven woods were still fresh in his mind. Ghislain Ferdium was a man who nurtured his resentments—grudges that stayed hot in his heart for a long time.

Uwaaaaaaaah!

A massive roar thundered from the distance. Ghislain didn’t need to turn around to identify the sound. it was the sound of a triumphant army. Against all logic, they had seized victory through a miracle. And at the heart of that miracle stood one person:

Deneb.

The woman who would henceforth be hailed as the Saintess.

Every eye was fixed on her. She remained there, cradling the unconscious Julien, her eyelids lowered. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just held him in a silent, tranquil embrace. Yet, everyone could tell Julien was out of danger.

Deneb was wearing a soft, peaceful smile.

Ghislain let out a quiet snort at the sight.

“Well, naturally. If he died after being soaked in that much holy energy, the world would be a total fraud.”

the surge of power that had broken out here was unprecedented. As long as he hadn’t been killed instantly, there was no question Julien would recover. Honestly, even a missing limb likely would have regenerated in that light.

Fwaaaaah…

The pillar of light surrounding Deneb began to thin out and eventually vanished. The Sacred Stone lost its glow along with it.

Everyone—except Ghislain—remained frozen, staring at Deneb in awe. Lionel was particularly shaken.

‘The Saintess… is that truly what she has become…?’

Even the Pope, the most powerful divine conduit in the world, had never manifested such raw power. The display Deneb had just put on was enough to make one think a deity had literally stepped onto the earth. How could a simple, low-ranking cleric harbor such a miracle?

‘We—we have to report this to His Holiness immediately…’

The Sacred Stone had reacted. The artifact that had remained dormant throughout all of history had finally answered the call of a humble priestess. This was a turning point that would alter the history of the entire continent. Every monarch and every racial leader would be watching this closely.

Grondal let out a booming laugh as he sat down heavily on the ground.

“Magnificent! Simply incredible! Who could have guessed that the Guardian Stone—which everyone thought was just a piece of history—actually contained the power of the goddess!”

Grondal, much like Iralniel, had always viewed the Sacred Stone as nothing more than a symbolic relic. It commanded respect and gave its owner political weight, but that was the extent of it. Now, it was obvious they had all been wrong. The object was a genuine vessel of divine might. They had been blind to it only because no one had the quality to activate it.

Now, its true master had arrived. This meant that no one could remain stubborn about its ownership anymore.

Grondal looked over at Ghislain.

“Hey, sorcerer.”

“Yes?”

“That woman… the Saintess—did the elves give her that Guardian Stone?”

“They did. The High Chief of the Elves attached it to her necklace himself.”

“Hmph. I guess those forest-dwellers knew what they were looking at after all.”

Grondal grunted to himself, then suddenly shouted for everyone to hear:

“Fine! I’ve made my choice!”

“And what choice is that?”

“You came here seeking our Guardian Stone, right? I’m giving it to the Saintess.”

Ghislain broke into a wide grin. In truth, even if they had just asked politely, Grondal likely wouldn’t have said no. But since Iralniel had already surrendered one, Grondal was clearly trying to keep his pride intact by making it a voluntary gift.

Ghislain gave a small nod of respect.

“I appreciate it. It seems our trip wasn’t a waste of time.”

“It’s thanks to your group that we won today. Hahahahah!”

Lionel, listening to the exchange, was breaking out in a cold sweat.

‘This is a disaster…’

Iralniel had already confirmed the Sacred Stone belonged to Deneb. Now Grondal was doing the same. If the Pope attempted to take it by force, it would trigger a revolt from both the elves and the dwarves. That meant Deneb would have to give it up voluntarily.

But…

‘Is that even the right path…?’

Lionel gulped, his eyes glued to Deneb. It felt as though the Sacred Stone had finally found where it belonged. Even if Deneb tried to hand it over to the Papacy, the world might not allow it. She was the first human to wake the goddess’s power—and she had woken the stone as well. She was the living image of divine will.

The real issue was whether the Pope would ever concede to that.

‘No… not a chance…’

The Pope was a formidable and frightening man. Lionel, having served him closely, understood his character. He was a man who believed himself the sole vessel of the goddess, the only one capable of saving the world. There was no way such a man would share his status with a Saintess.

‘If it comes to that…’

Lionel looked toward Ghislain. The man he had been watching was a personification of chaos—completely unpredictable. Lionel had a gut feeling.

‘That madman won’t stand for it.’

Even if Deneb tried to be obedient, Ghislain would interfere. That would lead to a direct war with the Papal Office. And the problem was—this lunatic was exactly the type to take on the entire Empire by himself.

‘Ugh… what am I supposed to do?’

Lionel was a man of deep faith. Having seen the miracle, he couldn’t deny the Saintess. But he couldn’t just betray his oath to the Pope either. He was an agent of the Church, sent on a specific mission. Clutching his head, Lionel groaned in frustration. His biggest dread was the coming storm between the Pope and the Saintess.

While Lionel was lost in thought, Ereneth was focusing on someone else.

Julien.

What Deneb had achieved was a miracle, but Ereneth was more moved by what Julien had demonstrated. He had thrown himself into the fire to save someone he loved, sacrificing everything. That raw, overwhelming passion had pushed him through the threshold of the superhuman.

It was a state of being that Ereneth, despite her centuries of life, had never even conceptualized. Elves usually reached higher states through peace, nature, and emotional detachment. To reach that level through pure, burning emotion—like Julien’s desperation—was foreign to her.

Suddenly, she recalled Ghislain’s words.

— “Julien? He’s a good man. More impressive than any prince I’ve met.”

She had been skeptical at first. When she first met him, she was honestly let down. He had the looks of a prince, but elves didn’t care for that. His magic was okay, and his spirit affinity was good, but nothing seemed to justify Ghislain’s high praise. Even his kind personality seemed average to her.

But now—

To realize he carried that much intensity in his soul.

‘…You truly were remarkable.’

Ereneth completely changed her view of Julien. He was exactly as Ghislain had said. And Deneb was the same; she had manifested a miracle for Julien’s sake. It was the kind of thing that only happened when a heart reached its absolute limit. A pure, total devotion.

That feeling had even moved the heavens.

Watching them, however, triggered a deep ache within Ereneth.

‘I want to feel that too…’

She bit her lip unconsciously. That was it. A desire so strong it could burn the world down. Elves were usually far removed from such feelings, but now, she craved it. Whether it was love, ambition, or a singular belief—she wanted to experience that all-consuming fire.

So, as they all stood there with their own internal conflicts, their eyes remained on Deneb and Julien. Deneb held him tightly, her posture signaling that she would never let him be harmed again.

The light from above was gone, but the holy pressure remained in the air, rippling outward as if announcing the birth of the Saintess to the world. There were still scattered enemies, but there was no need for the leaders to step back in. The momentum was so absolute that the remnants of the enemy army were simply collapsing under the weight of the divine atmosphere.

“Haaah… I suppose it’s finally finished.”

Ghislain finally allowed his muscles to relax. He had taken out two of the primary threats he had been worried about. But then, a nagging thought hit him—like he had forgotten something vital.

As if on cue, Dark suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs:

“Is it over?! Then move your ass, you moron!”

“What?”

“Kyle is in trouble! He’s dying—actually dying right now!”

At Dark’s panicked shout, Ghislain’s face turned pale. They had been here too long. There was almost certainly a high-ranking Salvation Order priest where Kyle was stationed too. And Kyle, at his current strength, stood no chance against an elite enemy.

“Damn it…”

A cold shiver ran down Ghislain’s spine. Julien becoming a superhuman and Deneb becoming the Saintess were fixed events—things that happened in the original history. But the timeline had shifted now. Two Apostles were dead. In the original life, those people had survived to fight the Hero’s party.

Their deaths now meant something had gone off-script. Was it possible the world was trying to balance the scales? A life for a life—the cost of changing the future.

That was a price Ghislain refused to pay. If Kyle died, killing the Apostles meant nothing. Kyle was supposed to be a savior of the world. More than that, he was a comrade Ghislain wasn’t willing to lose.

Ghislain squeezed out every remaining drop of mana. His exhausted body protested, but there was no time.

BOOOOOM!

He launched himself toward Kyle’s position like a projectile, leaving a trail of displaced air behind him.