Not far away, a middle-aged mage with short gray hair and slightly pale skin slowly floated over.
"Dean Paracel? Judging by that look, you're not planning to run?"
Augustus gave an awkward snort but still retorted, "Don't tell me you actually plan on charging in and getting yourself killed?"
"Charge in? Of course not," Paracel replied calmly. "A formation of this magnitude has already reached the very limit of what humans can achieve—it's practically a miracle, something on the level of a legendary forbidden curse.
Even for me, entering it would be nothing but suicide.
However…"
His tone hardened, growing solemn.
"Our mission is to intercept the Saint-Rank powerhouses of the Beastman Empire. Surely, Lord Augustus, you're not thinking of deserting, are you?"
"Well…" Augustus's expression grew even more awkward. After all, he had just been caught trying to flee—it was hard to save face. Still, he forced himself to sound indignant.
"The deal between the Holy Tribunal Church and my kind was for me to stand guard against Beastman elites—not to throw my life away.
What's happening now is clearly beyond my pay grade. You expect me to stay here and die?"
Paracel sighed. He understood Augustus's reasoning. As a dragon, Augustus's presence on the Watcher's Wall was purely part of a contract between the Dragonkin and the Church. The land west of the wall wasn't even dragon territory—he had no obligation to die defending it.
But the situation on the battlefield had become dire.
The Beastman Empire had already mobilized its strongest champions. When Augustus was still here, both sides maintained a delicate balance of power—each wary of the other, neither willing to strike first.
That fragile equilibrium would shatter the moment Augustus left, triggering an inevitable clash between Saint-Rank beings.
And when saints fought… the destruction they wrought was beyond imagination.
Even the shockwaves alone could annihilate the small kingdoms surrounding the Watcher's Wall.
If even one Saint-Rank fell, it would shake the political order of the entire continent.
Paracel knew all this—but he also knew he had no right to force Augustus to stay.
Just then, a deep male voice echoed from the distance.
"Lord Augustus, please stay your wings."
The speaker was a tall knight with golden hair and azure eyes, his imposing frame clad in battered gilded armor scarred from countless battles.
The wolf insignia on his chestplate was so hacked up that it was barely recognizable.
At his side hung a massive greatsword—something an ordinary man would need to carry on his back, but in the hands of this three-meter-tall knight, it looked like an ordinary longsword.
On his back rested a heavy lance, thick and long, and beneath him snorted his mount—a strange creature with the body of a lion, the head of an eagle, and broad feathered wings: a griffin, the unique war-beast of the Knight Empire.
"Oh, it's old Knight Roland. What, you here to talk me into staying too?"
Even Augustus couldn't hide his discomfort upon seeing the man. If Roland really decided to force him to stay, he had no chance of resisting—Roland was stronger.
Fortunately, the knight's tone was calm, not confrontational.
"The formation's range doesn't reach the Watcher's Wall," Roland said. "And with the anti-magic counter-wards buried beneath it, this is actually the safest place to be.
Besides, Lord Augustus, if you just fly away, how will you explain yourself when you return?"
He gave a faint smile. "I'll be honest—perhaps I'm being a bit selfish. But if you stay, I'll compensate you with three seventh-tier elemental crystals as payment for your trouble."
"Three?" Augustus blinked.
Seventh-tier elemental crystals weren't exactly common trinkets—they were worth a fortune. Even for someone of his rank, three of them amounted to a massive reward.
As expected of one of the three great human empires that ruled half the continent—such wealth was simply unmatched.
"Fine. Three crystals, deal."
With a nod, Augustus slowly descended from the air.
Seeing him agree, Roland turned toward Paracel.
"Dean Paracel, this disturbance the Beastmen have caused won't end quietly. The Empire's defensive arrays might not be able to counter something of this scale, so I—"
"You plan to enter the formation?" Paracel interrupted in disbelief.
A forbidden-class formation like this was beyond even Saint-Rank might. Entering it was a death sentence—no, worse: certain annihilation.
"Roland, you should know better than anyone—losing a single nation changes little in the grand scheme of war. But losing one Saint-Rank powerhouse can alter the balance of the entire continent."
Roland only chuckled, smiling with unshakable confidence.
"Relax, Paracel. I know my limits. Chris will take my position in my absence."
He gave a brief wave, his griffin pawing the ground impatiently.
"Besides, things haven't reached their worst yet. The Empire's guardian barrier was crafted by angels themselves—surely it can hold a while longer."
...
Meanwhile, the massive formation continued to evolve.
The black light gradually faded, leaving behind the enormous sigil suspended in the sky, pulsing with a thick aura of corruption and decay.
Under its influence, the surviving humans within the formation lost themselves completely—consumed by their own desires.
Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust.
The seven purest evils of the human heart erupted all at once.
Across the cities within the circle, chaos reigned—murder, arson, theft, assault.
Every person had lost their sanity, giving in to the urge to indulge their darkest cravings.
And as they sinned, tendrils of black mist began to rise from their heads, drifting upward—toward the great magic circle in the heavens.