The massive, invisible pressure didn't lift. It intensified. Feeling less like physical weight. And more like the universe itself was pressing down.
Jack held the illusion of non-detection taut around him, Reina and Rune. His spectral energy was straining at the edges of his capacity. Reina did the same with her fog of illusion.
Down there, the Saint of Joy appeared. He did not drift or walk. He simply was there.
He appeared on the battlefield. Not far from where the Forbidden Chalice lay discarded. He was breathtakingly perfect. Young, radiating an aura of overwhelming joy.
His hair was flowing white hair that seemed to shimmer like moonlight. And his perfectly tailored white suit was stainless.
"Ah, here it is..." the Saint of Joy stated calmly. His soft voice rang across the valley floor. Yet, somehow it also sounded as if he were speaking directly into the soul. It wasn't loud. But it possessed an impossible, crushing clarity.
Jack felt a flicker of cold awareness from Rune. A microscopic red pulse that signaled maximum danger.
The Saint of Joy drifted toward the Phantom Clown. The battle-damaged revenant was still clutching its severe wound from the Otherworld Wasp. It seemed to sense its impending doom.
The crying mask turned upward. And then, the Clown did something that defied its previous persona. It screamed. A sound like grinding rust and shattered glass. And it tried to flee.
It was too late.
The Saint of Joy did not use a grand spell or a named Divine Art. He simply extended one hand. Palm forward. A wave of white, incandescent ray erupted.
The Clown was caught mid-stride. The scream choked off instantly. Its mime-like body, a fusion of twelve powerful revenant spirits, didn't burn or explode. It dissolved.
It was scrubbed from existence. As if a meticulous, celestial eraser had wiped the chalkboard clean. The power was absolute. Bypassing every defense. Every protection. Every layer of resistance the Clown possessed.
Jack watched. His spectral eyes narrowed with deep concentration. This wasn't a fight. This was execution by divine decree.
When the white light receded, only the rusty sword of the Phantom Clown remained. Falling harmlessly to the ground next to the dust pile that had been its owner.
The Saint of Joy glided gracefully. Landing beside the sword. And looking at it with a smile on his face. Ignoring the Forbidden Chalice just a few meters away.
Jack clenched his spectral fists. Reina, next to him, was utterly silent. Both of their illusion magic powers were woven so tightly. They were hidden. Yes. But, the Saint of Joy was way too powerful for them.
The Saint of Joy picked up the rusty sword. He didn't look at the scattered Illuminated Transcendent Being. He didn't look at the Forbidden Chalice. He looked at the ugly, corroded piece of metal in his hands. With a look of intense, almost carnal satisfaction.
"There you are." He murmured. The cold pleasure in his voice was quite disturbing.
Before anyone could react, the Saint of Joy turned his attention to the Otherworld Wasp. The creature had been recovering from its own near-fatal injuries nearby. The Wasp, recognizing the immediate threat, launched itself into the air. Attempting to gain altitude and escape the powerful presence.
The Saint of Joy didn't even lift his arm. He simply exhaled.
A blinding, focused beam of white energy appeared. It was like a pure, concentrated joy... given physical form. It slammed into the flying insectoid creature.
The Wasp wasn't just killed. It was obliterated. There was no explosion. No splash of gore. Nothing left behind but a brief shimmer of gold dust before the wind swept it away. It was as if the concept of the Otherworld Wasp had been vetoed by a higher authority.
Silence returned. Heavier and colder than the perpetual grey mist of the valley.
The Saint of Joy returned his gaze to the rusty sword. He laughed. A pure, clear, almost musical sound. One that contrasted sickeningly with the violence he had just inflicted.
"Such a clumsy shell." He said in disapproval as he observed the rusty sword.
As he watched, the rusty sword began to tremble and glow. With a deep, unsettling grey hue. The rust and pitted metal peeled away. Collapsing the sword's form into a perfect sphere. The final orb was the size of a fist. Smooth, yet retaining the mottled, depressive color of grey metal mixed with deep, dry rust. It pulsed faintly.
'What was that? I need information.' Jack thought. His spectral core tightened. The risk was enormous. But the opportunity to analyze an artifact deemed valuable by a demigod was too valuable to ignore.
He didn't dare to activate the [Eyes of Judgement] on the Saint. He would be sensed immediately. But the artifact...
Jack poured a fraction of his focus into his spectral eyes. Aiming the energy solely at the grey orb. It was too far away though. He could only read the name... [Seed of Divinity: Pain].
Jack processed the name in a microsecond. The chilling implications running through his mind. Seed of Divinity? That was the thing needed for an illuminated being to break through to the next level. To evolve into sanctified being.
And... Pain? He recalled the origin story of the Valley of Despair from his research and Baroness Artheim's story. The curse of the valley was supposed to be connected to Saint of Pain.
The seed was the core of a demigod. Why was it here? What had actually happened? The Saint of Pain died there?
The Saint played with the [Seed of Divinity: Pain] in his hand. Treating the terrifying object like a toy. This was the reason the Saint of Joy was here. Not the Forbidden Chalice.
Finally, he turned his attention to the surrounding. Looking casually to where the Illuminated Transcendent Beings cautiously observed.
"I have what I came for." The Saint announced. His voice was carried with an unnatural clarity. Cutting through the lingering mist. "The chalice is yours to squabble over. I have no interest in it."
Cardinal Paddy cleared his throat. "You… you played us? Used us as bait?"
A smirk touched the Saint's lips. "Naturally. Did you truly believe I placed that thing here randomly?" He gestured vaguely towards the Forbidden Chalice.
"It served its purpose. It lured all of you here." He said casually. "And you lured the Phantom Clown out. This creature, in its twisted existence, held the Seed of Divinity from the fallen Saint of Pain. A petty, pathetic deity. Long forgotten. But its essence lingers."
Archwitch Elfeather's voice was laced with disbelief and a hint of fury. "You... you made us fight here? In the Valley of Despair? For that thing?"
The Saint of Joy's laughter echoed. A chilling sound devoid of warmth. "Made you? My dear Archwitch, I didn't force anyone to fight. I merely watched and provided the location."
"Anyway..." He continued. "The Phantom Clown would never dare to manifest if a Saint like myself was present here. You, and your bickering factions, provided the perfect distraction. A magnificent stage for its emergence."
He gave a theatrical bow. The white hair were swirling around him. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have far more pressing matters to attend to than the petty squabbles of mortals like yours."
With a final, enigmatic smile, the Saint of Joy vanished. One moment he was there/ A radiant figure against the gloomy light of the valley. The next, only the oppressive gloom remained.
The invisible pressure vanished as if a physical wall had been removed. Jack let out the breath he didn't strictly need. The [Mysterious Anomaly] was momentarily wavering before he slammed his focus back into it.
Reina's face was still pale even after the Saint was gone. She whispered, "He is terrifying. We should leave, Dear. Now."
"Not yet, Love." Jack muttered back. His voice was a low, spectral hum. He was shaking a little from the sheer proximity to that kind of power. "We can leave any time with my Nine-Anchor Portal Ring. The Chalice is still cursed and tracked. We need to know who seized it in the end."
He watched the Illuminated Transcendent Beings. They stood frozen for maybe five seconds. Processing what had happened. They had risked everything. They had revealed their hidden strengths. Only to discover they had been pawns in a demigod's private treasure hunt. The frustration was palpable. Radiating off them like heat.
Then, the focus shifted.
The Forbidden Chalice still lay there. Shimmering faintly. A symbol of immense power. Even if it was ultimately secondary to the [Seed of Divinity: Pain]. Even if they had been humiliated, they needed to bring something back to justify the blood spilled. And their hard effort.
The lone Fallen Acolyte from the Purity Cult made the first move. Driven by fanatical zeal and blinding rage at having been used, he exploded forward. Charging in a burst of white shadows. Aiming straight for the Chalice.
"Mine!" He screamed.
Before he could reach it, a bolt of silvery lightning slammed into his body. Stopping his charge. Throwing him sideway violently.
King Willion retracted his magnificent spear. He was the one sending the lightning. "Damned Cultist! The Chalice belongs to the Throne!"
The truce between the illuminated ones was momentary. It was born only of shared terror. Now, it was shattered like thin ice.
Arch Inquisitor Oakstake roared, "The artifact is a forbidden blasphemy! It must be sealed by the Church!" He lifted a massive, smoking mace. Glowing pale blue with divine power.
The battle ignited with renewed. Frantic ferocity. It was no longer a strategic maneuvering against common threat. It was a desperate, bloody lashing out against the other factions. To recover their dignity against the reality that had just mocked them all.
The recovered Fallen Acolyte was intercepted by Cardinal Paddy and the unknown Redemption Priest. Forcing a brutal close-quarters struggle.
Primal Sorcerers from Night Salvation suddenly appeared. They had been hiding in the shadow of the cliff face previously. Now, they launched a massive flame and poison miasma blasts toward the center.
"The Chalice is ours!" Shouted one of the Sorcerers. Throwing the combination of their concentrated magic directly at King Willion.
The King deflected the blast. But the distraction allowed Arch Inquisitor Oakstake to surge forward. Attempting to snatch the Chalice amidst the mayhem.
Countess Ashworth, however, activated her trademark spell to stop him. Multiple tentacles appeared. Binding the Arch Inquisitor momentarily.
The Winged Werewolf appeared. Lord Lycan. Jack had thought he was dead or at least gravely injured. His chest had been cleaved open after all.
But he was back in the fight. Swooping low, with claws extended toward the Countess. His chest was torn and bloody. But he moved with savage determination.
The Valley of Despair was once again alight with the uncontrolled, destructive energy of Illuminated Transcendent Beings. Fighting over a prize they now knew was second-rate, yet desperately needed to validate their struggle.