Chapter 438: An Unexpected Person
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 438: An Unexpected Person
Creeeeeak.
Creeeeeak.
It was the crisp, jarring sound of all things being slowly crushed by a massive grindstone.
The entire gray mental space, centered around that rising pitch-black sun, began to fracture, opening up fissures like bottomless abysses.
A pure white corona circled the black sun, rotating slowly. It appeared gentle and warm, yet it carried a violent, surging power capable of annihilating everything.
"Ah... what... what is this? The intelligence said that witch didn't have anyone like this by her side..."
The black-robed man stared blankly, his body instinctively wanting to bow down in worship.
His pale face was a mask of sheer terror. A scorched crimson hue bled into the edges of his pupils, and thick tears of blood streamed from the corners of his eyes.
How insignificant.
The spiritual power he took such pride in was utterly pathetic before that pitch-black sun.
He was like an ant on the ground, arrogantly attempting to transcend the divine, throwing his fragile life into a burning wind that tore everything asunder.
But this was a gap in the very hierarchy of existence. How could it be bridged by something as simple as the fluttering of wings?
He felt his soul being slowly shredded by a terrifying force.
Everything was warping—twisting beneath that pitch-black sun. The gray space was pulled into grotesque, malformed lines, crushed, and then completely devoured by the black sun.
Yet, he could not look away.
He knew he had trespassed against a taboo existence, but he couldn't even manage to prostrate himself, worship, or beg for mercy.
He could only watch. He watched as that pitch-black sun, that pure white corona, and those cold yet searing flames looked down upon him with indifference, slowly consuming every part of his being.
The black-robed man’s body swayed once before he collapsed limply to the ground.
His hood fell back, revealing a bloodless, distorted face and a pair of hollow eyes that looked as though they had been burned straight through by fire.
It wasn't just his eyes that had been incinerated; it was his very soul.
*
"Phew... So there really is an internal agent within the Church providing intelligence?"
Muen exhaled a long breath of turbid air. His legs felt unsteady, and he leaned weakly against the saintly carriage.
Acting like a badass felt great, but the aftermath was miserable.
The mental discomfort persisted—not the soul-tearing agony from before, but a profound sense of depletion.
It felt as if his entire body had been sucked dry.
"Dammit. That pitch-black sun looks formidable, but just tapping into it a little bit drains way too much."
Muen rubbed his temples, nursing a headache.
It was obvious that his current realm was struggling to keep up with the level of his power.
Though he had previously "NTR-ed" the Withered King and used the power of several Evil Gods to create something extraordinary, that pitch-black sun was clearly not the kind of "sweet little helper" that would give him feedback to raise his cultivation level.
Instead, it was more like a thirsty, middle-aged woman who had nearly sucked him bone-dry several times already.
Consequently, Muen’s current realm was only at the Mid-Third-Tier, though he might reach the late stage soon. In terms of normal cultivation, this speed was incredibly fast. However, it couldn't withstand the fact that one terrifying entity after another was being stuffed into his body, each one screaming for more every time he tried to use them.
He couldn't take it. He really couldn't take it...
Muen wasn't even in bed right now, yet he felt exactly like he’d been drained dry between the sheets.
It was a truly "exquisite" sort of exhaustion.
This time was no different. If that black-robed man hadn't been suicidal enough to attack his mental space directly, Muen probably wouldn't have been able to deal with him so easily.
After all, anyone serving as a backup for an assassination attempt on the Saintess was bound to be a formidable figure.
"Are you alright..."
Just as Muen was lamenting the hardships of being a "hard-working ox," a gentle, soul-stirring voice reached his ears. Two fair, delicate hands suddenly reached out from behind the gauze curtains, softly encircling him.
Warm Holy Light flooded out, washing away Muen’s fatigue.
"You..."
Muen shot a wary glance at their surroundings, then immediately used a speed enhancement to slip into the saintly carriage. He caught those two mischievous little hands and said sternly:
"Didn't I say you can't just show your face whenever you want? You are Her Highness the Saintess right now!"
"Hmph."
Liya let out an adorable little huff, her face pouting with indignation.
"So what if I'm the Saintess? Can't a Saintess worry about you?"
"Alright, alright, I was just saying. Don't be mad..."
Looking at the world’s cutest Saintess—who was currently trying her best to look dignified and majestic—Muen naturally had to back down and apologize immediately.
He reached out and wrapped an arm around her slender waist, helping the Saintess "soothe her temper."
"It’s fine. It should be over now."
Lifting a corner of the gauze curtain, Muen looked through the gap and saw the blood-red giant hand in the sky beginning to collapse completely.
The brief yet eternal thirty seconds were rapidly counting down to zero.
*
"That is..."
As if sensing something, the figure in the blood mirror cast a casual glance at a certain spot beneath the giant hand. His tone instantly turned solemn.
"Is that another one of your creations? How terrifying... Has the Church become this insane during the time I’ve been gone?"
"You can go mad all you like, but watch your tongue," the Pope replied coldly.
"That fellow has nothing to do with my Church. You should save those words for a certain old man."
Despite his words, the Pope, situated in the Supreme Place, couldn't help but cast his gaze toward that "bastard" from across the vast distance.
The veins on his forehead throbbed uncontrollably.
Even at a time like this, he’s still busy rooting through the cabbage. He’s got some nerve...
"I see. So that one has made his choice as well?"
The figure in the mirror pondered for a moment before coming to a realization.
"Heh... In the end, even though you all deny the coming destruction and the end of all things, you’re all secretly making preparations for it. Don't you find that ironic, Your Holiness?"
"However, in my eyes, all your futile struggles are nothing more than the self-righteous, cowardly acts of naive children."
"You will all fail."
The figure in the blood mirror laughed softly.
Even as his manifestation of power—the blood-red giant hand—gradually dissipated under the Pope’s relentless pressure, he didn't seem bothered.
The thirty seconds were up. He had failed to achieve his objective.
"A bit of a pity, but no matter. There’s still—huh?"
The figure, who had been ready to give up, suddenly let out a sound of surprise.
He looked down in bewilderment, as if an anomaly he hadn't anticipated had suddenly occurred.
*
"It’s over."
Muen let go of the curtain and smiled at Liya. "We should be sa—"
Clang!
Before he could finish, the smile on Muen’s face turned into chilling killing intent.
His gaze sharpened as Elizabeth appeared in his palm, thrusting mercilessly toward the swaying curtains nearby.
The breeze fluttered the white gauze, and in the gap between the swaying fabric, a figure shrouded in black mist had appeared out of nowhere!
Muen couldn't see the person's face, nor could he sense their realm or strength, but his internal alarm bells were screaming.
This threat was far greater than the black-robed man who had used the mental attack!
Without a moment's hesitation, Muen thrust his blade forward while simultaneously pulling Liya into a tight embrace with his other arm.
He didn't know how the enemy would attack, but this way, he would at least take the first blow for her.
Muen didn't have time to beat himself up over his fatal lapse in concentration; his eyes were locked onto the figure hidden in the black mist.
Suddenly, the figure moved.
A flash of silver leaped out from the mist.
It was a longsword—a standard-issue blade that looked like it had been snatched from a knight.
Though it was a plain, unremarkable weapon, it erupted with incredible power in that person's hand, parrying Muen’s hurried thrust.
Then, the petite figure in the black mist moved with agile grace within the cramped space of the carriage. Finding a treacherous angle, the figure lunged the sword toward Liya like a striking viper!
"Don't you dare!"
Muen roared, slashing his blade at the black mist while pulling Liya even tighter into his chest.
"Eh?"
But just as the sword was about to pierce Liya’s arm, a clear, feminine cry of surprise came from the black mist.
The mist paused. A confused gaze seemed to peer out, landing first on Liya’s exquisite, lovely face, and then shifting to Muen, who was holding Liya tightly.
A brief moment of confusion, thought, and then realization of the situation.
And then...
The sword that had been aimed at Liya’s arm suddenly veered off course. With several times the ferocity, it lunged straight for Muen.
An angry, feminine shout rang out within the small space:
"You lecher! Get your filthy hands off her!"