Meanwhile, as Elysia relaxed at home, blow-drying her hair and watching videos, a group of people were anxiously scanning a cluttered dead-end alley.
"What the hell? Didn't that old man run this way? Where did he go?!"
"Did he just vanish into thin air?"
"Wait, let me get a whiff." With that, one of them dropped to all fours. His face rapidly contorted, his mouth and nose bulging outward until he transformed into a dog-like snout.
This wasn't magic or a Super Ability, but another power known as a Blessing—specifically, the Blood God's Blessing. In other words, these people were cultists from the Eldritch Concord.
Elysia's strength was undeniable. Her two viral videos, especially the second demonstration of her abilities, had left a profound impression on everyone who watched them. This suddenly appearing pink-haired Outsider was incredibly powerful!
A normal person wouldn't dare provoke someone clearly far stronger, right? That's why the cultists hadn't come knocking all week, nor tried to steal the Human Skin Book. Elysia had assumed her ability demonstration videos had frightened them off.
But that wasn't the reality. We've been discussing how normal people would react, but are cultists normal?
Throughout the week, cultists had been attempting to harass Elysia. Their motives were simple: the girl possessed an artifact suspected of communicating with the gods. If they could steal it, wouldn't they be one step closer to divinity and gain greater power?
The vast difference in strength between them never factored into their calculations. It was as incomprehensible as why, in White Eagle, some men refused to surrender when police pointed guns at them, charging instead. Were they gambling that the officers' weapons were empty?
Ultimately, they were cut down mid-charge, their bodies riddled with bullets.
The reason no attacks had occurred all week wasn't because the cultists had given up—it was because every attempt had been intercepted.
As the cultist lay prone, sniffing the ground, a voice suddenly rang out from above: "All here, right?"
Old John sat on the rooftop, casually fiddling with his firearm as he surveyed the group of cultists below.
Having solidified his resolve to assist Miss Elysia, the soon-to-be appointed member of the White Eagle Eight, John began considering what he could do to help.
Should he apply directly to join the White Tower? It was an option, but he decided it would be best to wait until Elysia officially assumed her position.
He could reach out to his former comrades, spreading word of Elysia. He was confident his old friends wouldn't be able to resist this young girl, who seemed like a divine being descended to Earth. True to his word, Old John contacted them, and whether they believed him or not, they were already on their way.
After all, these old-timers had little else to occupy their time. At worst, it would be a group trip to catch up.
Then, Old John suddenly remembered the two random thugs he'd casually eliminated earlier. They had mentioned someone called "Lord Wrath." Though he didn't know who that was, it suggested these men were organized—and that this organization had already set its sights on Elysia.
The answer became clear: while Elysia was still transitioning into her new role and he had little else to do, he would investigate this organization. And that was precisely what led to the scene unfolding before him.
The cultists spotted Old John on the rooftop and shouted, "He's up there!"
"There are more of us! Kill him!"
As they yelled, some of the cultists' hands twisted into grotesque shapes, their fingers transforming into razor-sharp claws. Others rapidly bulked up, their shirts ripping apart as thick manes of coarse fur sprouted across their bodies, transforming them into bear-like figures.
This power, known as the Blessing, granted the cultists combat prowess that rivaled ordinary Evolvers. Most importantly, obtaining the Blessing was remarkably simple:
All they needed was faith in the Evil God. Nothing more.
Staring at the group before him, Old John's expression turned curious. "Another group of Evolvers? And their abilities are all so similar..."
Having spent recent years slumbering in the Martyr's dream, he was unaware of the the Eldritch Concord's recent emergence and the Blessing. Naturally, he assumed these cultists were Evolvers. But whether they were cultists or Evolvers, it made no difference to him.
Old John narrowed his eyes and leveled his gun at the group.
"Charge!"
"Roar!!!"
Bang! The gunshot shattered the air, followed by a chorus of agonizing screams. A bronze bullet arced through the air, piercing one cultist's skull before abruptly reversing course and slamming into another's temple with even greater force.
Even the cultist built like a grizzly bear couldn't withstand the bullet's impact. Crimson streaks of light crisscrossed the battlefield, a macabre spectacle both beautiful and deadly. Within three seconds of Old John's shot, all five cultists lay dead, their heads shattered beyond recognition.
Old John was, of course, an Evolver. Though his ability was modest—a sliver of psychokinesis limited to a hundred-meter radius around him—he had honed it over decades of rigorous training. What he lacked in raw power, he compensated for in precision. He could focus his psychokinesis into a concentrated point, guiding thumb-sized objects at blinding speeds—more than sufficient to eliminate these threats.
The Dimensional Rift had appeared over twenty years prior, and Old John was among White Eagle's first generation of Evolvers. He had been drafted directly into military service and fought in the war against Great Britain's invasion.
After the original White Eagle Eight repelled Great Britain, another individual with superhuman abilities emerged in the land. He ignited a rebellion, slaughtered the White Eagle Eight, and seized absolute control, establishing a brutal reign.
Old John had fought as a defender in that war. When the superhuman tyrant established his regime, John joined the underground resistance.
Peace finally returned to the land when the Martyr appeared and slew the superhuman tyrant.
In essence, after becoming an Evolver, Old John had spent his life either locked in life-or-death combat with enemies on the battlefield or en route to war, navigating countless Dimensional Rifts and battling bizarre monsters. He was a true veteran of a hundred battles.
Though age had diminished his physical strength and stamina, his combat prowess remained largely intact. His vast experience fighting diverse foes compensated for his aging body.
Staring at the corpse before him, Old John muttered softly, "I've killed more Evolvers than all of you little whelps have ever seen."