Chapter 594 – The Doom Saint (Part 2)
The red sky cracked.
Dave's chaos aura surged like a tidal wave, pushing back the heavy pressure of divine light. His feet left small craters on the scorched earth as he launched forward. This time, he wasn't testing. He was serious.
Their fists met halfway—chaos and corrupted holy power colliding in a blinding explosion.
The ground split beneath them.
Buildings in the background—whatever was left of them—crumbled to ash. The shattered statues melted under the raw energy released from the clash.
Dave slid back a few meters and cracked his knuckles. His grin grew wider.
"Now that's what I'm talking about."
The Doom Saint didn't speak. His expression was calm, but his eyes sharpened. Golden veins glowed along his arm as divine power surged again.
He raised two fingers—and the sky responded.
A giant ring of burning golden light appeared above them, spinning slowly. Inside it, ancient angelic runes shifted, rearranging like a massive seal.
Dave looked up. "That's new."
Suddenly, a single beam dropped from the ring—silent and fast. It slammed into the ground near Dave's feet, burning the dirt into glass.
Another dropped. Then another.
It became a bombardment—silent, precise, and constant. Each beam had weight. Each one shook the land with divine pressure.
Dave dashed forward, weaving through the blasts like a shadow.
"Trying to cook me from above?" he shouted.
He jumped high, aiming a punch at the ring—but a flash of light intercepted him.
The Doom Saint was already there, sword raised mid-air. His strike came with no wasted movement, as if time itself bent to make room for him.
Dave blocked with his forearm, but the impact knocked him down to the ground again. He hit the ground hard, leaving a crater beneath him.
He stood up, wiping the dirt from his face.
"You fight like someone who's always been strong," Dave said. "But you're holding something back."
The saint didn't deny it.
"I'm watching," he said. "Not to win. But to see if your spirit is still the same."
Dave squinted at him. "You keep talking like you know me."
The saint smiled faintly. "Maybe I do. Or maybe I just understand power when I see it."
Dave wasn't sure what this guy's deal was, but one thing was clear—he wasn't trying to kill him. That meant he had room to push further.
Dave clenched his fists. His aura burst again, hotter and more unstable. The ground couldn't take it anymore—cracks spread for miles in every direction.
"Alright, then I'll show you something real."
He vanished.
When he reappeared, he was behind the saint.
One clean punch.
It landed on Uriel's side, sending him flying for the first time.
The Doom Saint crashed through broken columns, skipping across the ground before sliding to a stop.
When the dust settled, he stood back up, smiling.
"That strength… it hasn't changed."
Dave frowned, walking toward him. "You keep saying stuff like that. You testing me for someone?"
"In a way," the saint replied. "You were once a ruler many feared. But some... followed."
"I don't care who I was," Dave said. "I care about now."
"Good," Uriel said, raising his sword once more. "Then fight like the man you are now."
They charged again.
This time, Dave didn't hold back. His fists moved faster than before, each strike sending shockwaves across the battlefield. The saint matched him step for step, his sword dancing with golden trails of light.
The air around them cracked.
With each exchange, Dave could feel it—the saint wasn't just blocking. He was observing. Studying. Like he wasn't trying to defeat Dave, but trying to understand him.
Dave ducked under a swing, pivoted, and sent an uppercut into the saint's stomach. The impact sent golden sparks flying.
The saint grunted but didn't fall. Instead, he placed his palm on Dave's chest.
"Seal of Judgment."
A glowing rune flared, pressing holy power into Dave's body. His legs buckled for a second—but then he laughed.
"That's your move?"
He flared his chaos aura. The rune shattered.
Dave grabbed the saint's arm and twisted, pulling him in close.
"I've fought monsters, demons, gods. You think a corrupted halo scares me?"
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, the saint looked… satisfied.
"You haven't changed," he said quietly. "That's enough for me."
Dave blinked. "What?"
The saint took a step back and lowered his sword.
"You passed."
Dave stared, dumbfounded. "That's it? We were just getting started."
Uriel's wings folded behind him, the flames on his halo dimming.
"I wasn't here to kill you. I was sent to judge if you were still worth following."
"Following?" Dave raised an eyebrow. "You're weird."
The Doom Saint gave a soft chuckle.
"In time, you'll remember. Until then… just keep moving forward."
A light surrounded him.
Dave instinctively stepped back, ready for another attack—but none came.
The light enveloped Uriel entirely. His corrupted wings turned to ash, his sword vanished, and his body faded.
Only his calm voice remained.
"When the time comes, I'll fight for you again. Not as a judge... but as your sword."
The silence returned.
Dave stood there for a moment, fists still clenched, aura still wild. Then he slowly relaxed.
"Tch. What a strange guy."
He looked around. The battlefield was quiet, but the air still crackled with leftover energy.
He checked his token.
Another one appeared in his hand—this one shaped like a broken feather, half gold and half black.
"Another victory," he muttered. "But that didn't feel like a win."
He looked up at the red sky, now slowly fading into gray.
Somewhere out there… that saint had been someone important in his past.
And for a moment… it felt like Dave had almost remembered something.
He shook it off and turned away.
There were still stronger opponents ahead.
He couldn't afford to dwell.
........
In a different location.
Golden rays passed through the stained-glass windows of the Temple of Light, casting soft colors on the polished floor.
The silence inside was peaceful… yet empty.
A man in simple robes knelt near the entrance with a broom in hand, quietly sweeping fallen petals blown in by the wind.
His long silver hair was tied back. His eyes, golden with a faint flicker of something… twisted, calmly followed the broom's rhythm.
No one paid him much attention.
To them, he was just the sweeper. Quiet. Diligent. Always early. Always last to leave.
But beneath that still face, something stirred.
Uriel paused for a moment, resting both hands on the broom. He slowly looked up, as if seeing something that wasn't there.
"You are back…"
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"I can still feel the chaos in his strikes."
He closed his eyes, letting the memories surface—the battlefield, the burning ring of judgment, Dave's grin as he tore through divine attacks with brute force, and the last moment... when Uriel let go of the test.
"Still the same fire… still untamed."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He leaned against the handle of the broom.
"How long has it been since I last saw him like that? Not as a ruler. Not as a god. But just… a warrior."
Footsteps echoed behind him. He turned slightly, seeing one of the temple knights passing by.
The knight gave a short nod. "Good morning."
Uriel bowed his head politely. "Peace be with you."
As the knight walked away, unaware of who stood before him, Uriel glanced up toward the grand statue at the center of the temple—the figure of the Goddess of Light, radiant and serene, eyes closed in eternal peace.
"She knew," Uriel murmured. "She always knew."
He remembered the first time he arrived here.
Battered. Banished. Broken.
A murderer of a god.
A fallen archangel who defied the very system he was born into.
And yet… she had not cast him away.
Instead, she gave him a broom and said only this:
"If you cannot lift your sword for the heavens… then use your hands to keep them clean."
It was mercy.
But also… a chain.
"Even she doesn't forget," he whispered. "But she forgives."
He returned to sweeping.
One stroke. Two. A simple task. But one that gave him time.
Time to watch the world change.
Time to wait.
Time… for him to see if the one he once followed—his lord in a forgotten life—could truly walk the path again.
"I'll keep watching," Uriel said quietly. "Until the world is ready… or until he remembers."
The wind blew again, carrying more petals through the open archway.
He swept them away without a word.