Chapter Eighty-Three: Chaos in Battle

Clap, clap... At some unknown moment, more than twenty white-robed bishops had appeared around the periphery of Hermon Valley. The valley was vast, and with only a couple dozen bishops scattered about, their presence was nearly undetectable. Although there were many experts within the Dark Council, the white-robed bishops were no less formidable.

If it were merely a matter of numbers—just those twenty bishops—such a force could hardly sway the outcome of this grand-scale confrontation between armies of elites. The issue lay in their position. The site of this Holy War had been proposed by the Holy See itself. When inviting the Dark Council to participate, the Church had not hesitated to sacrifice nearly ten thousand of its faithful, all to convince the Dark Council that the Church was not so formidable after all, and thus to secure their agreement.

Though Ruth had more or less guessed at the Church’s cunning plan, he still agreed to come. The conflict between the Church and the Dark Council was irreconcilable; a decisive battle was inevitable sooner or later, and the timing made little difference. Since the Church was willing to expend ten thousand believers for the Holy War, Ruth had every reason to believe they would tamper with the chosen battleground. Even so, the only place fitting the requirements for the Holy War was Hermon Valley—a broad, desolate expanse.

Yet Ruth had come. His confidence was rooted in the might of the Dark Council—and, even more so, in the icy blue flame far above, ten thousand meters high in the sky.

Indeed, the Church had set its traps in Hermon Valley. Having already paid the price of ten thousand lives, they were determined to secure victory in the Holy War!

If they could seize victory here, inflicting a mortal blow on the Dark Council, then the sacrifice of ten thousand would be justified—even greater sacrifices would fall within the Pope’s permissible bounds. Compared to the multiple Crusades that had cost hundreds of thousands, even millions of lives, what did a mere ten thousand matter?

The Church’s priests had laid a vast array, spanning dozens of square kilometers, around the valley—a grand formation rarely seen in the Church’s history, combining the powers of light with those of wind, fire, water, wood, and other natural elements. Its force was truly formidable.

Having been set up in advance, the array was effortless to activate: all it required was for twenty-some bishops of proven strength to simultaneously initiate it from their appointed positions.

“Almighty Lord, your faithful servants beseech your divine power. Bestow your mercy upon us, so that we may vanquish the evil of darkness,” chanted the white-robed bishops, their voices echoing from all directions.

With their chanting, more than twenty beams of dazzling white light shot skyward from the valley.

“Damn it! The Church is despicable—no wonder they worship birdmen!” a vampire cursed loudly.

“Enough talk. In war, there is no such thing as dishonor. We must attack at once—we cannot let them seize the initiative again,” Ruth said sternly. He knew that even with the presence of that ‘goddess’—the icy blue flame—on their side, she would only intervene should the Council face total defeat. Until then, they were on their own.

“Comrades, let us unleash the fury buried deep in our hearts! Remember how the Church has treated you, your families, your kin! Today, let us reclaim justice! Kill!”

Ruth was a gifted orator. His words quickly stoked the flames of anger in the hearts of the Dark Council’s forces. They remembered evading the Church’s endless hunts, watching loved ones fall before their eyes, witnessing their kindred slaughtered without mercy...

“Kill!” “Kill!” “Kill!”

They had reached the limits of rage. Bloodlust gleamed in every eye, wild and frenzied.

Especially the Infernal Dragon—the largest creature in the Dark army, though the rarest in number. It recalled the countless times it had been forced to hide from the Church’s pursuit.

“Roooar—” A thunderous bellow shook the heavens. The Infernal Dragon reared its head high and fixed its gaze on the Church’s army ahead. With both massive claws thundering against the earth and dust billowing upwards, its colossal form charged forward.

Wave after wave of assaults followed. Now, the power of brute force became evident: with a thunderous crash, the weakest link in the Church’s front line—the silver-armored warriors—gave way. They were neither strong nor weak, but in this battle, mere fodder, neither useful nor easily discarded.

A breach tore open along the long battlefront, and the Dark Council’s army surged through, relentlessly widening the gap with their repeated charges.

“Kill! For darkness! For the Demon King! For our loved ones!” It is said that filial piety comes first, and nothing is more painful than wanting to care for one’s parents when they are already gone. For these warriors, many of whom had lost parents and kin, their fervent anger was transmuted into boundless strength.

They fought with unrestrained savagery, thirsting for vengeance for their loved ones!

“Bishops, hurry! Holy Knights, join the fray!” Joseph Peter XVI, his face now tinged with brutality, shed his usual serenity. The Church could not afford to lose this Holy War.

Golden light flashed as the Holy Knights surged into battle, wielding golden swords and lances, slashing and thrusting with relentless fury. With every strike, countless dark creatures fell wounded or slain. The golden blades and spears, no longer pure, were now stained with the scent of blood.

Yet the dark creatures hesitated not at all. All were of high rank; each could heal themselves with ease and hurl themselves back into the fray. The soft fear the hard, the hard fear the reckless, and the reckless fear those with nothing left to lose—so it was now! The warriors of the Dark Council fought as if they no longer cared for their own lives.

“Roooar!” The Infernal Dragon’s furious roar was followed by a sweeping blow of its massive tail. Countless silver-armored warriors and Holy Knights were caught in its path, their lives snuffed out in an instant, the carnage unspeakable.

The frenzied howls continued as the Hellhounds, unwilling to be left out, plunged into the battle. Their three proud heads snapped in different directions, ripping into the enemy before them. Blood—both that of the Church’s soldiers and their own—quickly drenched their fur. Deep, bone-revealing wounds began to mar their bodies, horrifying to behold.

“Ah—!” A thousand vampires streaked through the air, leaving countless crimson trails behind. Each possessed the power of at least a count. Their wings, spanning nearly two meters, glimmered with a faint red glow. Claws and bodies became weapons of carnage; their physical might was monstrous. Any Church warrior struck by them was torn limb from limb, dying on the spot.

“Boom!” One vampire gathered blood energy stored in its wings, forming a red sphere the size of a human head and hurling it into the enemy ranks. With a thunderous explosion, nearby Church warriors were blown to bits—more precious lives lost in an instant.

So blood energy could be wielded this way as well. This attack mirrored what Joval once did. The other vampires, observing this, were delighted. Though it consumed much blood power, and would take ages to replenish, it was worth it for the number of high-ranking enemies it felled in a single blow. More importantly, the move was deeply satisfying, a chance to wash away old humiliations.

Soon, large numbers of vampires began adopting this technique. Throughout Hermon Valley, explosions and flashes erupted without pause, each followed by a charred crater and the loss of more lives.

“Do not hesitate! All forces, into the battle!” Joseph Peter XVI, enraged to the point of humiliation, shouted. The Dark Council’s tenacity and frenzy had exceeded his expectations, and the loss of control unsettled him deeply.

No sooner had he spoken than the Church’s forces erupted in holy white light. The relatively few priests attached to the army joined the fight. They were not strong in direct combat and stayed at the rear, using long-range attacks to slowly reap the lives of the dark army.

Yet while the priests’ fighting ability was limited, they possessed one crucial power: they could augment the strength of the Church’s warriors. Through their abilities, they could commune more directly with the divine, channeling greater waves of holy light, exactly what the army needed most.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!...

The six hundred or so ascetics also joined the battle. These were the true backbone of the Church—each ascetic rivaled a vampire duke in strength.

Crack! A vampire marquis clashed head-on with an ascetic. The vampire’s formidable body trembled, then was sent flying far into the distance—not by his own will, but by a single palm strike from the ascetic. The earth-shaking crash that followed left him struggling to rise again, grievously wounded.

The vampires of the Dark Council looked on in disbelief at the plainly clad ascetics. Could they truly be so powerful? Instantly, they grew utterly vigilant, focusing all their attention.

“Domain of Darkness, God-Eating Miasma!” As the dark mages roared in unison, the entire Hermon Valley was enveloped in a dense black mist. The augmenting effects of the priests’ chants were instantly and completely nullified. The dark mages, previously absent from the fight, had been preparing a vast domain of darkness.

It was a stalemate: neither the Church’s priests nor the dark mages could gain the upper hand. The mages had not foreseen the priests’ augmenting magic, nor had the priests expected the mages’ domain. Their powers canceled each other out, leaving them locked in a battle of attrition.

“Damn it!” a vampire bellowed. With the ascetics’ entry, the battle, which had seemed to favor the Dark Council, was dragged back to the starting point, even tilting slightly toward the Church.

Just then, a new brilliance suffused Hermon Valley, a peaceful aura blanketing the entire battlefield.

“Damn this holy light!” the members of the Dark Council cursed in unison, while the Hellhounds and Infernal Dragon let loose a chorus of howls.

The truth was revealed: the Church’s pre-set array of light, activated by the chanting of the twenty-some white-robed bishops, now came to life. In the instant the formation was triggered, radiant light surged forth. Every member of the Dark Council felt an unshakable shadow settle in their hearts—a sense of impotence, as if their powers were being stifled.

Crackling and snapping, a storm of lightning descended upon Hermon Valley, snatching away countless lives—some from the Church, but many more from the Dark Council.

Misfortune never comes alone. The lightning had not passed when fierce winds arose, compounding the calamity. Then came water and fire—torment upon torment—the denizens of the Dark Council endured agonies beyond bearing.

“Let the light shine upon us!” Joseph Peter XVI raised his papal scepter high as waves of golden radiance spilled forth...