Chapter 337: The Variable (Part 1)

  Although the high-level mages in The Radiant Citadel were not as numerous as those in the Tower of Fangs, they were still not fewer than in any other place. In a short time, several dozen high-level mages had gathered at the edge of the plaza. Under the protection of swordsmen, high-tier spells like Thunderblast Bomb, Blazing Might Shot, and Boulder Blossom bombarded from all directions.

  No matter how ferocious the orcs were, under high-level magic, flesh was still just flesh. Even the tough bodies and vitality of Scale Oxen could not directly withstand a single Thunderblast Bomb. But the orcs did not retreat in the slightest. They were not even here to fight, but to vent their maddening, vengeful anger and their beastly nature. They began to throw their lives away, charging towards the magic.

  The Thunderblast Bomb and Blazing Might Shot wove a net of searing heat and explosions, continuously setting off waves of deafening blasts and shockwaves. The remains of orc limbs flew everywhere, but not a single orc showed the slightest hint of cowardice. All of them howled as they forcefully charged into the swordsmen's formation, engaging in close combat. Especially the charges of the Half-Orcs riding Scale Oxen. Aside from direct hits from high-level magic, even the summoned elementals could not withstand them for a moment. Any obstacles in front, whether people or buildings, were sent scattering.

  Leaving behind a small pile of corpses, the orcs scattered from the plaza into the buildings and alleyways of The Radiant Citadel. In the vast The Radiant Citadel, there were tens of thousands of priests, swordsmen, and others, while the orcs numbered only in the thousands. But relying on bodies that were far more agile and resilient than human swordsmen, along with a nearly frenzied fighting spirit and anger, they were not at a disadvantage despite being vastly outnumbered. The battle, originally confined to the area around the plaza, had now spread throughout the entire The Radiant Citadel.

  The entire The Radiant Citadel was boiling. Even though the light rain of Universal Redemption still drizzled down, the screams of swordsmen and priests continued to sound from every corner. Under the heavy weapons of the orcs, even this healing Forbidden Spell had little effect. The orcs had no strategic or tactical intent. They acted almost entirely on the instinctive impulse to kill and their anger, slaughtering anyone they saw like the most primitive of beasts. The Radiant Citadel was filled with rampaging orcs, charging, colliding, and killing indiscriminately. It was complete chaos.

  At a time like this, naturally, no one was paying attention to the movements of a single person, no matter who they were or what they intended to do.

  The exhibition hall of The Radiant Citadel, which had always been heavily guarded, was now in a complete mess. This place stored the relics and treasures of past Popes—extremely valuable items. Besides the protective magic arrays, there was usually strict security, but now several priests had rushed in, wanting to take some of the magical items within.

  "My lords, what are you doing? Most of the things here are the relics of His Majesty the Popes," the guarding swordsmen intervened to stop them.

  "Can't you hear the sounds outside?" one of the priests yelled.

  Outside were the tremors of trampling hooves and the screams of swordsmen. Several Scale Oxen had already charged nearby. Among them was one old Scale Ox, charging and colliding everywhere. The swordsmen and priests were completely powerless. Coincidentally, there were no high-level mages nearby, and many of the items placed in the exhibition hall were high-level magical artifacts.

  Ordinary people were simply fragile before the immense size and power of a Scale Ox. Even though the healing power of Universal Redemption could treat fatal wounds, the swordsmen and priests were usually completely deformed by a single collision before the ox's head, or trampled to pieces under its hooves. There wasn't even a process of being injured; they were simply killed, instantly and cleanly.

  With a loud boom, one wall of the exhibition hall suddenly shattered, and a giant Scale Ox nearly three meters tall appeared before everyone. The ox had several swords and spears stuck in its body, along with a few wounds from magic explosions. The Half-Orc beastmaster on its back had long been slumped motionless. A longsword was embedded in his green, ugly head. But in this situation, whether there was a beastmaster or not made no difference.

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  The ox opened its mouth, and a thick stream of acidic gas immediately sprayed two or three swordsmen to the ground. The acid-like gas instantly corroded their flesh into a pulp. Although the pervasive Universal Redemption continuously repaired the damage, the gas that remained on their bodies kept corroding, and as it healed, it corroded again, causing the two swordsmen to roll on the ground, screaming in agony. The Scale Ox lowered its head and charged towards the remaining people.

  Several priests scrambled away on their hands and knees. With a loud crash, rubble flew everywhere. An altar holding artifacts, along with the entire exhibition hall's protective magic arrays, was shattered. These magic arrays were mostly for alert and magical defense, and they were completely useless against the Scale Ox's power.

  The Scale Ox turned and charged in another direction. It was about to smash two priests and the altar behind them into pulp when a figure flashed into the room. In the blink of an eye, they were before the Scale Ox, reaching out a hand and patting it right on its forehead. The Scale Ox's giant body then went limp, collapsing to the ground like an emptied sack.

  "Bishop Inham!" the few priests who had just escaped death cried out, overjoyed. "Truly the Lord's guidance. You have come at the most critical moment."

  "Yes, just in time. Any later and it would have been troublesome," the Cardinal said, also seeming relieved. He walked behind the priests and took the half of a staff from the altar.

  "You... what are you taking that for? The situation outside is critical. You should go help near the plaza, otherwise it will be too late..."

  "Ah, yes, we must hurry, or it will be too late," Bishop Inham said, holding the staff and walking outside. With a soft shlick, the heads of the two speaking priests suddenly flew off. The others froze, not understanding what had happened. As Bishop Inham's hand sliced through the air a few times, some nearly invisible black threads shot out from his hand, dancing around. The bodies of the other priests and swordsmen all split apart like they were made of building blocks, blood splashing everywhere.

  Without a single glance back, Inham, holding the staff, sped away outside.

  The Pope had already been carried back to a room in the Hall of Light. The Templars were guarding outside, and only Bishop Adela remained by the Pope's bedside.

  The Pope's breathing was faint. He looked haggard and ancient. This old man, once full of spirit, dignified, and extraordinary in his bearing, after using the ring a second time, now looked like someone who had lived for several hundred years, every last bit of his essence and life force spent, leaving only a final breath—a man on the verge of death. The immense white magic that had once been within him was also gone, not from consumption, but from the exhaustion of his body itself.

  Adela and the other two Cardinals had also tried to heal him, but to no avail. Even Universal Redemption had no effect on the Pope's body, let alone any other white magic. Spells like Guardian Angel Aura and Universal Redemption consumed not magic power or life force, but lifespan—something that could not be recovered by any magic or any power. To use them twice in succession, even with the main aid of the Ring of Kings and the mental power gathered by The Radiant Citadel, the consumption must have been astonishing. And the Pope's own age was not small.

  "Your Majesty... Your Majesty..." Adela called softly, but the Pope had no reaction. Then Adela smiled.

  Lancelot and the other three Temple Knights were locked in a difficult battle with Gru on the plaza, while everyone else was focused on the chaos and the fighting. After the Pope collapsed, Bishop Adela, as the Pope's trusted confidant, naturally became the only one who could be by his side now.

  "Finally, your day has come, has it not?" Adela looked at the Pope on the bed, his smile brilliant and joyful, yet with a hint of ferocity in his eyes. "Do you know how long I have waited for this day? Do you know how many years I have endured you, you stinking old man? I have finally waited until today... Hahahahaha..."

  Amidst his suppressed laughter, Adela reached out to pry open the Pope's fist. He saw it clearly: on the Hall of Light, after the Pope collapsed, the Ring of Kings in the sky had also fallen. The Pope, who was half-conscious, had still managed to reach out and catch the ring, gripping it in his hand.

  The Pope's fist was clenched tightly. It was surprising how this old man, on the verge of death, still had such great strength. Adela tried a few times but couldn't pry the Pope's fist open. He stamped his foot anxiously. Even if the Pope was truly dead, he couldn't use a knife to cut off the Pope's hand, especially where Lancelot or others could see.

  Just as Adela was looking for something small to use as a lever, the Pope on the bed suddenly opened his eyes and said, his breath as thin as a gossamer thread: "You have disappointed me too much..."

  Adela froze, becoming like a clay sculpture. His eyes, filled with extreme terror, widened as if they were about to pop out. Then his legs began to tremble, shaking uncontrollably. He stared with wide eyes at the Pope on the bed, who was trying to draw another breath. Although Adela had spoken arrogantly just now, under the weight of this old man's accumulated authority, he was so terrified he could barely think of anything else.

  The sounds of various explosions and slaughter from outside grew louder and louder. Adela's body shook more and more violently. The terror in his eyes grew heavier and heavier. The Pope still struggled to breathe.

  Suddenly, Adela gritted his teeth, leaped onto the bed, and straddled the Pope, his hands tightly clasping the Pope's neck. His face, once as handsome as a woman's, was now completely twisted and deformed, but the dominant emotion was, surprisingly, fear.

  He didn't know how much time passed before Adela, panting heavily, released his hands. The old man beneath him showed no further sign of life. He had died peacefully, without any struggle. Adela didn't even realize when he had died.

  Adela fell from the bed and collapsed to the floor, sitting on his rear end. Only then did he discover that his pants were soaked, and he didn't know when it had happened.