She remembered that Vann had invited several figures at least at the bishop level to hold the line. If they could be brought in, asking them for guidance would not be difficult. It was not that she looked down on the Dawn faction's power, which clearly hid secrets, but that it was both the hardest and the most time-consuming path.
Right now, the Northlands was like a powder keg, with sparks drifting in from all directions. She did not have the time or resources to probe what was hidden there. Then she suddenly thought of something.
Fei'er Li looked into the distance at Icelis, who was chewing on some frozen, rock-hard fruit. "Icelis, see that church? Yes, the Dawn one."
She pointed in its direction. "That one. Um… can you tell me what you know about Dawn and Holy Light?" If it was Icelis, who was almost history itself, maybe she would know something.
Fei'er Li grabbed her small hand, eyes shining, but received a merciless reply. "No! And…" "I want to eat that. Buy it for me."
"…Okay."
Icelis dragged the small white dog behind her, while Fei'er Li followed with an ever-growing pile of snacks in her arms. Icelis really did not know any hidden truths about Dawn Holy Light. Maybe she knew but could not remember, but in the end, why would she need to know human matters?
Still, it felt a bit familiar. That Holy Light thing seemed like something she had seen before. It also seemed a little different from what Fei'er Li was talking about now.
"!" Icelis suddenly turned to look behind them.
She sensed nothing, and everything looked the same as before. She took the snack Fei'er Li handed over, thinking it was meant for her. The two people and one dog were unremarkable in the dense crowd.
The same was true of a travel-worn man wrapped in an unassuming linen robe, his body bound in bandages. He also seemed to be heading somewhere. The exposed skin of his hands and feet looked normal, but at times the wrinkles of his skin and the lines of his muscles twisted as if they were burning like fire.
Unconsciously, or perhaps deliberately, he avoided the shadow cast by the tower with the bronze bell. He pulled his hood lower, blocking out the unpleasant golden branches.
A man in a long robe walked down the street, looking ordinary and moving like anyone else. His expression was dark as he avoided the church, not out of fear but out of dislike, since that branch had long declined even in the Northlands, where dawn light should have been strongest. That annoying light could not cover the fire of the Lord.
After a few more steps, he let out a low groan. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth as his body froze, one hand clutching his chest. From his fingertips to his heart, blood-red marks like Rend spread across his skin, and his body cracked apart like fragile pottery.
Beneath the robe, the damage was worse. His skin looked wrong, divided into rough and smooth patches, and even his facial features began to split as if stitched together from different people. It was a mix of man, woman, child, and old person, with expressions that seemed to have their own will.
He already had experience with this. Threads made of black Magic and wailing souls stretched out from his ruined core, pulling at pieces of flesh and sewing his body back into something that looked human again. The process was clumsy but practiced, like fixing a torn rag doll.
"I need to find Salva as soon as possible," he muttered to himself. He kept walking, while the people nearby only felt a sudden colder gust of wind pass by. In a small city where nothing should have gone wrong, he had met a dragon that should not have been there, and paid a price he should not have paid today.
The cost of underestimating that thing was exactly this. In a single moment of carelessness, his former body had been erased so completely that nothing remained for him to inhabit. What hit him was not a fist, but a mountain compressed into the shape of a fist, smashing down with millions of tons of force.
It was like a giant stepping on an ant. Even so, he had a soul blessed by the great the Lord, and a body rebuilt with no sense of art by Salva. He was not especially hard to kill, but simple destruction of flesh was no longer enough, even if this time the destruction had gone too far.
That did not truly matter. Flesh was only a container for his soul, and it could be pieced together again, while the body was nothing more than a fragile glass cup. Only the soul endured.
Yet at that moment, he saw the dragon tear open its own disguise and reveal the greedy beast beneath. An overwhelming force grabbed his entire body, shaking the will left in his flesh, and he felt as if he had been placed on a plate. The dragon opened its mouth, sharp teeth filling it, and countless shapes like knives and forks reached out to tear him apart.
His Magic, his vitality, even the Blessed Power granted by the great the Lord and his soul itself were being dragged toward that abyssal mouth. Once swallowed, there would be no chance of escape. He absolutely could not be eaten.
That was why he had paid such a high price to change his revival from returning in place to revival through teleportation. During the time it took, several ritual nodes were destroyed by that dragon, and several groups of monsters meant as sacrifices were wiped out. The plan had to be adjusted.
Fortunately, the key fragment of ice used to stir the blizzards of all the Northlands was still intact. "That cursed dragon," he whispered. "Is this a test given to me by the great the Lord?"
That powerful and savage-looking dragon was more like a monster wearing dragon skin. Its excessive strength and brutal appearance revealed its true nature too clearly. He himself was not a specialist in physical combat among those of gold rank, but that was only relative, and his base strength alone could pass for a Heisei Era knight at final form.
Not only had he been blown apart by a strike without any Magic, but to escape and revive far away he had burned through precious reserves and Blessed Power. Even the important work of bringing about the return of the Lord had been affected. Now, with a lord empowered by Ice Spirit and that annoying Wolf Lord returning, the already troublesome wolves had noses that were even sharper.
Nothing was going right. He slammed his fist into a wall in anger, and a nearby woman quietly pulled her curious little girl away. He did not care.
As the leader of a traditional villain organization, one that was clearly not good, was he not supposed to be grand and confident? Was he not supposed to always be stronger than the followers of the Lord and toy with enemies at ease? Instead, before anything even began, he had been beaten by a passing dragon, and was likely marked for revenge.
Cursing under his breath, he walked through the noisy streets and deeper into the market. He stopped in front of a vendor who had set up a simple stall on the ground. The vendor was a lean man wrapped tightly in clothing, a pipe in his mouth, head lowered as if tired, his face naturally hidden in shadow.
The deeper shadow cast by the newcomer fell over him, and only then did the vendor slowly look up. When he saw the eyes beneath the hood, he glimpsed a decaying fire that burned everything equally, himself included. The eight-pointed star branded into his own back seemed to warm slightly.
His face looked even more worn, yet a fanatical light rose in his eyes. The blessing from the great the Lord was unmistakable. This was a great priest who had grasped the true meaning of the Lord.
The vendor barely kept his excitement in check and bowed deeply. "My lord, is there anything we lowly ones can do for you?" He then heard the sacred words spoken above him.
"Take me to the altar here," the man said. "Prepare food for about three hundred people. I will handle what comes after." The vendor lowered his head again and answered, "Yes."
Footsteps echoed as torches mounted on charred skulls along the walls lit one by one. The dark stone chamber was revealed, covered in blasphemous symbols and filthy curses carved everywhere. Veins and lumps of flesh writhed on the walls, and at one corner several arms pushed open a heavy door.
Beyond it lay a larger space. In the dim firelight, pale withered arms hung from thorny iron cages, and layers of dried blood soaked into every crack of the stone floor. Horrifying roars, shrieks, and mad murmurs echoed, mixed with endless prayers to the supreme eight-pointed symbol, pushing further away from anything human.
It was not limited to humans. Monsters and even plants had undergone disgusting or strange changes, and other believers could be seen throughout the space. Some were merchants, beggars, or even well-known nobles, all branded with the eight-pointed mark and warped in body.