Time waits for no one. The seventh day's bell tolled, signaling the time for separation.
After seven days of creation, Elaviel's sacred Eden was nearly complete. The golden gate stood wide, revealing glimpses of a radiant paradise, a corner of the heaven all dreamed of.
As Truman left for prayers, his mood heavy, he noticed something unusual. A crowd surged around a central figure.
His eyes first caught the Bishop of Harvest City, clad in opulent red robes. To Truman, he was an untouchable figure, a fifth-tier supernatural master at the peak of mortal prowess, capable of slaying demons effortlessly and reshaping the city with a word. He could erase the slums in a breath.
Compared to the pompous slum priest, this was the true voice of the Church.
Yet now, this man Truman had only glimpsed in newspapers or citywide sermons was groveling, head bowed low, his face dripping with flattery.
Puzzled, Truman's gaze shifted to a figure in purple and gold.
A woman in ancient knightly armor, perhaps in her early twenties, exuded elegance and nobility. Her rare lavender hair was tied into a bun, revealing a face both beautiful and resolute. Her proud, confident demeanor and upright posture highlighted her striking figure. To Truman, she was a rose encased in iron—fragrant, yet untouchable.
A holy sword rested at her side, glinting with icy menace.
"Honored Lady Violet, I'll dispatch men to handle your request at once. Before the Lord, I swear my colleagues and I will ensure Her Highness return to the holy city," the Bishop said, his voice resonant with deference despite the noisy crowd, reaching Truman's ears.
"Hm. Handle it for now. Issue a reward for any leads. Spare no expense to find Her Highness," came her warm, commanding reply.
Violet? From the Federation's Church! Truman's heart skipped. The Church wasn't foolish—an angel's descent would be detected eventually, and sending someone to retrieve her was only a matter of time. But the timing was uncanny: Elaviel's Eden was nearly complete, and now the Church had arrived. A strange irritation stirred in him.
Quickly, he reined in his emotions, reason prevailing. This was a golden opportunity—a chance to change his miserable circumstances.
Violet had landed in the Middle Kingdom the previous night, racing to Harvest City based on intelligence. She'd tirelessly visited local churches and was now close to success. As she pondered where to begin her search, a young man's voice cut through the crowd.
"Lady Violet, are you searching for someone?"
Violet's brow furrowed as she turned to the source—a wiry man with messy hair, sharp brows, and narrow eyes glinting with cunning. His demeanor carried a peculiar frivolity. Despite his respectful expression, she saw through the facade: no reverence for rank, only excitement.
With her vast experience reading people, she instantly pegged him as a lustful man who reveled in his desires, no different from the suitors chasing her in the holy city.
Still, she wouldn't dismiss any lead. "Indeed, we're looking for someone. Do you have information?" she replied evenly.
Truman grinned, his smile ingratiating, though his eyes avoided hers. "Is the person you seek one from the Church's legends?"
A clank of armor. Violet hadn't expected this man to know anything substantial—she'd thought him a bold slum-dweller hitting on her. His words upended her assumptions.
"Yes. Do you have news of her? Don't worry about compensation. If your information is accurate, the Church will be generous."
Hope crept into Violet's voice as she fixed her gaze on the man she'd found distasteful moments ago.
Truman looked up, meeting the knight's gaze, inwardly marveling at her stunning beauty. Though not as otherworldly as Elaviel, she surpassed the women he'd summoned before. He answered slowly, "Lady Violet, I don't just have clues about Her Highness… she's in my home right now!"
"What?"
Not only Violet but the Bishop and the knights around her were stunned. How could it be? The revered archangel, leader of millions in the Church, residing in a slum-dweller's shack? It was as unthinkable as a dragon curling up in a snail's shell.
"If this is true, I'll ensure the Church rewards you handsomely," Violet said.
Truman didn't grasp the weight of "representing the Church," but he knew he'd seized a golden opportunity.
Why not do a favor if Elaviel was leaving anyway? And profit handsomely? Win-win.
This was a day the slum-dwellers wouldn't forget. They watched a scruffy nobody lead a group of dazzling elites through their filthy streets, including a striking knight whose presence outshone the slum's top courtesans by miles.
It was morning, the sunrise spilling light over the hills, illuminating their destination—a ramshackle wooden hut.
Such huts were common, built from city construction scraps, weathered and reeking of mold, enough to nauseate any refined noble. But now, everything changed. As Truman creaked open the door, a breathtaking white figure appeared, transforming the decrepit shack into a resplendent palace.
Elaviel opened her golden-amber eyes, her delicate lashes trembling. She'd known of their arrival. Her expression was serene yet solemn, untarnished despite the dust, as winter sunlight filtered through, haloing her in divine radiance.
How to describe Violet and the others' feelings? Her presence rivaled the most awe-inspiring miracles in scripture. This was a true angel—one of the twelve archangels serving the Almighty, unseen for decades!
For a moment, words failed them, lost in the blend of beauty and awe, only slowly regaining their senses.
The Bishop resolved to buy this shack, proclaiming it the sacred site of an angel's descent.
Truman, unfazed, was used to Elaviel's beauty, his aesthetic senses battle-hardened. But he was puzzled by the Church's reaction.
Haven't you seen an angel before? Why so shocked? He pondered. A minor angel warranted a high-level escort, sure, but not this level of astonishment. A knight commanding such deference from a fifth-tier Bishop had to be a legendary-tier powerhouse. Hadn't she seen it all?
"Violet… your loyalty will be remembered, guiding you to paradise."
Elaviel's gentle voice, like a sacred hymn, stunned Violet. A flush crept up her face as she pressed a hand to her chest, knelt on one knee, and declared, "Your Highness, I am your eternal sword, witnessing you bring the holy war to its end."
Truman began questioning his existence. What the hell? He'd thought Elaviel was a minor angel, more symbolic than practical. But a legendary-tier powerhouse pledging loyalty?
"Holy shit!"
So, with some incense, oil, and a few coins' worth of materials, I summoned a mythical being—an archangel leading the Church?! No way this is real! He'd assumed she was, at best, a high-tier supernatural, maybe peaking there, showing no grand powers. But she was a supreme entity capable of leveling cities?
Truman felt like spitting blood. Not everyone got to experience the gut-wrenching loss of a billion-dollar opportunity. If he'd known, he'd have buttered up Elaviel during those seven days, maybe gotten her to scribble a holy decree—riches beyond imagination.
Then it hit him: one of the world's apex beings had lived in his shack for a week, and he'd even defiled her face? Cold sweat drenched his back, his breath quickening with a mix of dread and thrill.
His mind churned, but Elaviel merely glanced at him, folded her slender wings, and stepped toward the group. "Eden is complete. I will return to the holy city," she said.
Violet and the others trembled with excitement, nodding eagerly.
What followed was straightforward. Elaviel held no attachment to her birthplace. After a brief exchange with Violet, she departed without leaving Truman any token or words, as in some clichéd novel. The moment she resolved to leave, no longer dwelling on her mistaken arrival, Truman faded back into dust in her eyes.
A faint melancholy lingered in him.
He didn't wallow long, quickly turning to negotiate the house transfer with the Bishop. He wasn't worried about being cheated—a city's Bishop, a fifth-tier powerhouse, wouldn't bother scheming against a nobody like him. A crumb from their table would sustain him for life, and they'd see it as beneath them to haggle.
Everything wrapped up neatly. Truman was already dreaming of joyous summoning days in a grand new house.
Unbeknownst to him, his reunion with Elaviel would come far sooner than expected.