Chapter Seventy-Six: Clash

"You shameless creatures of darkness, how dare you brazenly attempt to tarnish the reputation of our Church? The Holy Knights will not let you go so easily."

If the previous exchanges had merely brushed against the Church's boundaries, now Giovale's words had clearly intensified the conflict. All the Holy Knights, guardians of the Church, were enraged. They drew their swords, ready for battle.

"Haha, I've tolerated you long enough," the dark wizard laughed wildly. "Today, let me, Mosenf, witness if the Holy Knights of the Church are truly as formidable as the rumors claim."

He glanced back at Giovale, who understood, shielding the two half-beast children behind him and giving Mosenf a reassuring look.

Mosenf waved his wand, and his dark robe fluttered in the windless night, forming a pale black mist around him that made his figure even more indistinct in the darkness.

With a fierce shout, Mosenf vanished from his spot. "Clang—!" On the Church's side, a resounding clash echoed as a Holy Knight raised his sword to collide head-on with Mosenf. The wizard's ability to instantly appear within the enemy's ranks revealed his considerable strength.

Mosenf withdrew after the initial clash, smiling wickedly. He extended his free hand, scattering a cloud of powder, and then mysteriously appeared in another corner. As the powder spread, the Holy Knight sensed danger, his mind sharply alert, instantly thinking to dodge. Unfortunately, he was just a fraction too slow, and a bit of the powder touched his golden armor.

A sizzling sound followed—the armor was instantly corroded, turning ashen before evaporating into the air. The knight, deeply shaken, was grateful to have dodged in time; otherwise, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

Mosenf, seeing his scheme fail, showed a hint of disappointment but did not dwell on it. He never intended to win through such tricks; his earlier attempts were merely to seize any opportunity.

Meanwhile, the vampires and other members of the Dark Council had begun their own battles alongside Mosenf. In an instant, the Church's silver-armored warriors and the Holy Knights were locked in combat with the Council.

Mosenf moved among them, a dark wizard skilled in ranged attacks, but that did not mean he was weak in close quarters.

War is terrifying; it is not a game, but a test of life and death. Though the numbers on both sides were small—no more than sixty or seventy altogether—they did not underestimate their opponents, fighting with all their strength.

The battle was brutal; the Dark Council and the Church regarded each other as mortal enemies, showing no mercy in combat. The Holy Knights wielded swords and spears, and the silver-armored warriors swung their weapons.

On the Council's side, the vampires held the advantage with their formidable physiques, serving as the main force. The half-beast tribe, though weaker in attack, contributed greatly by sheer numbers and rapid reproduction. The dark wizards, few in number but no less powerful than the elite vampires, specialized in ranged attacks and held a status equal to the vampires, with the current Council President being a dark wizard.

The Council and the Church were fully engaged, their battle spreading further and further. If one looked from above, the ground below would seem to flicker with countless points of light.

Flesh and blood flew, the night grew heavy with the scent of blood, and the silver moonlight cast an eerie glow. Among those not fighting were the Church's white and red-robed bishops, Giovale and the two half-beast wolf children from the Dark Council—only five in total, with the wolf children's combat abilities barely worth mentioning.

Seeing the evenly matched struggle, Giovale grew anxious. The enemy still had both a white and a red bishop. He was confident he could face the white bishop, but encountering the red bishop, he had no chance of victory.

He couldn't help but wish that the elders of the Revono family were here; not to mention one red bishop, even several more would be nothing to fear. But this was just wishful thinking; the key members of the Revono family were currently attending a special meeting for the Council's election, set by the vampires—timing had simply not favored him.

Unbeknownst to Giovale, the red bishop—Lanomans—had no intention to intervene. Sent by the Church as a reserve, Lanomans was there to handle emergencies. The white bishop was the commander; if those below could manage, Lanomans would not wade into such troubled waters.

In truth, Lanomans’s mind was conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to hone the Church's forces; on the other, he regretted seeing so many loyal warriors fall in battle. Was it truly impossible to have both fish and bear’s paw?

He closed his eyes lightly, choosing to ignore what he could not change.

The white bishop watched the Church and Council fighting desperately, his gaze falling on the two trembling half-beast wolf children behind Giovale, his eyes darkening. His loyalty to the Church was unwavering, but he felt nothing for creatures of darkness.

He moved, stepping forward to stand ten paces from Giovale. "Creature of darkness, let us duel."

Giovale glanced at the children behind him, worried.

"Don’t worry. With me here, I guarantee their safety," Lanomans spoke then. Giovale, reassured by his words, looked closely at him and saw Lanomans's eyes were utterly clear, putting his mind at ease.

Striding forward, Giovale let out a piercing cry, transforming. His massive wings unfurled, revealing the strength of a vampire count, a match for the white bishop. Pointing at him, Giovale declared, "The nail that sticks out gets hammered first. Don’t think you can stand above the crowd and lead the show—remember, the first to die is always the one who stands out."

His words were not without reason, but the white bishop was infuriated, for Giovale had both insulted him and implied the Church’s people were mere 'chickens.' His anger was palpable, his white robe rustling as if venting his wrath.

"Great Lord, bless your loyal servant," the white bishop murmured, looking Giovale straight in the eye, a gleam of malice flashing within. "Soon you'll know what regret means."

Giovale shrugged, his vast wings trembling. "I’ll leave those words to you." Suddenly, he moved like lightning, appearing at the white bishop’s side—strike first, strike hard.

The white bishop regarded Giovale’s actions with disdain, coldly watching. At his level, one needed real power to survive. He extended his hands and, incredibly, blocked Giovale’s powerful vampire blow barehanded.

Giovale was slightly surprised, but quickly recovered, flapping his wings and soaring proudly in midair. Then, gathering his strength, he unleashed countless scarlet rays from his wings.

It is known that vampire wings, like those of angels, serve as energy reservoirs. The difference lies in the nature of that energy: vampires possess blood energy, angels pure light energy. Vampires have only one pair of wings, while angels, depending on their strength, may range from wingless cherubs, to ordinary angels with one pair, archangels, principalities, and seraphim with six wings, to legendary eight, ten, or twelve-winged supreme beings—though these are only myths.

Scarlet rays shot from Giovale’s wings, the purest blood energy of vampires, their power not to be underestimated. For a moment, the world seemed awash in crimson, the night more chilling than ever. The white bishop had not expected Giovale to go all out, using blood energy so recklessly. For vampires, blood energy was precious—every bit used was lost, and replenishing it took time.

"Boom—" A tremendous shock, wind and clouds swirling, the world changed color. To everyone's surprise, Giovale flew straight at the bishop—not flew, but crashed. He aimed to strike with his own formidable body, a move no one had anticipated.

Speed and surprise are the essence of battle. The white bishop, caught off guard, hurried to defend but was already too late. Agonizing pain shot through his nerves, despite his considerable strength, his vision swam, proving just how terrifying Giovale’s attack was.

The ground was shattered, stone reduced to dust, scorched as if burned by fire.

Everyone quickly refocused, turning their attention from Giovale and the bishop, throwing themselves wholly into their own battles.

Giovale, having struck first and won, smirked contemptuously. "So much for the white bishop."

He knew his words were boastful—one should never underestimate an opponent in combat—but he said it anyway. As the saying goes, God first makes mad those he wishes to destroy. Giovale’s aim was to drive the white bishop mad.

"Ah—" the white bishop cried, his face flushed with rage. Ignoring everything around him, he drew his staff and began to chant, "Praise the Lord!"

A white spiritual light burst from the staff, shooting straight towards Giovale...