"Another Super Level powerhouse?" None present had anticipated this revelation.
Previously, they had gathered detailed intel on the Cult of the End. In fact, they knew the exact number of that cult's champions better than any insiders.
So where on earth did this extra Super Level figure come from?
Instinctively, the group's gazes snapped toward the androgynous man in the black robes who'd spoken before—eyes full of suspicion.
Noticing their hostile expressions, Witt's face went ashen in an instant.
Witt hurried to explain, "I swear I've withheld nothing about the Church's internal affairs.
"Everything I knew, I've already told you. I have no idea where this person appeared from."
"You wouldn't dare lie to us," Prince Richard sneered, showing little real doubt in Witt.
After all, if not for his betrayal, they never would've breached the Cult of the End's stronghold so easily.
Nearby, Bishop Wells of the Cult of the Dawn addressed the soldier, "Tell us everything else you know. Don't hold anything back."
The reporting soldier described Dusk's appearance, then hesitated briefly before continuing honestly: "Beyond that… they even called him… 'Your Majesty'!"
"Your Majesty?!" Every pair of eyes went wide at the words.
Among ordinary folk, that title refers only to lords or nobles—but to a Church member, it denotes the very deity they worship. That was true in both orthodoxy and here.
"Did you mishear?" Prince Richard's first reaction was disbelief—he simply couldn't accept it.
Witt's mind went blank as he murmured, "How is that even possible…"
Could Fursa's plan…actually have succeeded?!
It wasn't just them; every heart in the assembly churned with shock.
The soldier forced a wry smile. "I heard it with my own ears—and it wasn't just me. Nearly every soldier there heard the Cultists address that man as 'Your Majesty.'"
"Send someone to investigate immediately." Bishop Wells's face grew grave as he issued orders.
This was no trivial matter. If the true Church sovereign had appeared, it would shake not just their forces but the entire god forsaken world.
Prince Richard and Legion Commander Medici likewise dispatched agents at once. After all, this was a god—a Malevolent Deity at that! Even the slightest chance demanded utmost caution.
Soon enough, their envoys returned with confirmation: just as the messenger soldier had said, multiple witnesses had heard the Cultists call that individual "Your Majesty."
And the being's power was terrifyingly great: without even wielding the Scepter of the End, he had utterly overwhelmed Isaac.
Moreover, according to the latest reports, the Cult of the End forces have already left Talros Town and are now marching this way.
At the news, both Wells and Medici frowned, exchanging uneasy glances.
What were they up to—coming here to die? Or… had the Lord of the End truly descended?
Questions buzzed through every mind. The champions of the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire stared at one another, unable to discern the enemy's true intent.
At last, Legion Commander Medici spoke up. With a cold laugh, he said, "Gentlemen, there's no need to panic. These cultists are desperate—they'll try anything.
"I refuse to believe in a divine descent in this age, let alone that it would miraculously occur within the Cult of the End at such a critical moment."
Prince Richard nodded in agreement. "The commander is right—no god has shown in countless years. What are the odds it would happen now?
"Whatever confidence they claim, this actually works in our favor. Saves us the trouble of rooting out these sewer‐rats ourselves."
With the two imperial factions in accord, the Cult of the Dawn's leadership swiftly fell in line.
Bishop Wells paused thoughtfully, then said, "Since you've made up your minds, I won't argue further. I only ask that, if the chance arises, we capture that unknown powerhouse alive—I'm curious about his true identity."
Medici and Richard shared his sentiment. Anyone who could bend the famed Fursa to his will must be tied to the Lord of the End. Such a figure, favored by divinity, would be a prize no power could ignore.
…
Meanwhile, in the great hall atop the mountain home of the Church of the End, the cult's high council writhed like ants on a hot skillet.
A gray haired cleric ran a trembling hand through his hair. "It's over, it's over—the Cult of the Dawn forces have gone after Lord Fursa. This time, we really are done for."
Beside him, a rotund steward ground his teeth. "Damn Witt—if it weren't for him, how could we have fallen to this? If he falls into my hands, I swear I'll tear out his heart myself."
At the mention of Witt, hatred flared in every other voice. For a traitor who had betrayed the Church, none could restrain thoughts of vengeance.
The hall was thick with despair—some cursed, some gave in to apathy, and a few even spoke of surrendering, unable to muster the will to continue.
"Silence!" At that moment, a stern, hawk eyed middle aged man at the front of the hall bellowed. "It is not yet the final hour—this is no time to give up!
"Have faith in Lord Fursa—he will find a way to save us!"
The fat steward managed a bitter smile. "But… we've heard nothing from Lord Fursa in days. Even Quito and the other bishops who went ahead haven't returned…"
Although he didn't finish his sentence, everyone present understood his meaning clearly.
That he hadn't returned after so long could only mean that Fursa and his companions had either fled or been killed.
In either case, it was not good news for them.
An attendant standing nearby addressed the middle aged man at the front. "Lord Ladi, if we surrender now, we might still salvage a chance at survival; if we wait until the last moment, we may not even have the opportunity."
The cleric named Ladi sneered, "Don't be naive. Do you think those outside will accept our surrender? Abandon that illusion."
He knew better than anyone the true nature of the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire.
To these outsiders, the Cult of the End's members were nothing but vermin to be exterminated at will.
Surrendering would only meet them with the sword, not a chance at life.
As voices in the hall reached an impasse.
A shadow suddenly drifted in and took shape as a figure wrapped head to toe in black.
"My lord, I bring word from Lord Fursa," he reported in a low voice.
At his words, the hall fell completely silent.
A flicker of joy crossed Ladi's face as he leaned forward, asking eagerly, "Well? Did Lord Fursa's plan succeed?"
The others stared back blankly, unaware of any plan at all.
It was a secret of the Cult of the End, known only to a handful of high ranking members.
The man in black slowly raised his head, his tone calm yet imbued with unshakeable conviction: "Our master has descended."
A shiver ran through everyone at his declaration.
Ladi—always stern and reserved—was stunned for a moment before bursting into manic laughter.
His face flushed as he clenched his fists and cackled, "I knew it! I just knew it! Our master will surely favor us! He has come to rescue us!"
…
At the same time, news of the Cult of the Dawn and Clinton Empire's movements reached Dusk and his riders. Thousands of cultists surged along the road on stolen swift mounts.
Inside the opulent carriage, Fursa bowed respectfully and reported, "Your Majesty, a portion of the enemy forces has abandoned the Church's siege and is advancing on us—likely intending to intercept or probe our defenses."
"Deal with them," Dusk said calmly, eyes closed as Nara's hands worked at his shoulders. He had anticipated the Empire's and Dawn's maneuvers and took it in stride.
What occupied his mind was how best to intimidate those forces without revealing his true identity while neutralizing the threat.
Through subtle questioning of Nara along the way, he'd gained a rough understanding of the Clinton Empire's and Cult of the Dawn's strength.
Beyond the more than three hundred thousand troops at their disposal, four Super Level champions had come to crush the Cult of the End's rebellion: Bishop Wells of the Cult of the Dawn, Legion Commander Richard of the Clinton Empire, Kaiwei, commander of the Royal Family's guard, and the cult traitor Witt.
Given their current strength and that of the Cult of the End, confronting those forces head on would be a gamble with no chance of victory.
One wrong move and there would be no return. Dusk had to tread carefully.
"By your command." At his orders, Fursa bowed and stepped out of the carriage. He then led a thousand cultists, accompanied by the burly Quito, toward the approaching enemy.
After Fursa departed, Nara could not help but ask from inside the carriage, "Your Majesty, how do you plan to deal with the Cult of the Dawn and the Clinton Empire forces?"
Though she wasn't sure of Dusk's exact power, she sensed he wasn't yet at his full strength—after all, he had only just descended. It wasn't surprising, but she was curious how he would turn the tide in such desperate circumstances.
"Why, do you think I'm incapable of handling them?" Dusk opened his eyes slightly and fixed Nara with a cold gaze.
…He really hadn't come up with a solid plan yet.