Chapter 320: The Fire Phoenix (Part 4)

  The priests, bishops, and all clergy had already prostrated themselves before this miracle, but the Pope, who held the highest position and was known as the Lord's representative in the mortal world, did not kneel.

  And another, who was also among the highest clergy, the leader of the Temple Knights, Lancelot, who had been granted the title of Paladin by the Pope, also did not kneel. He did not even look up at the angel in the sky, but instead suddenly drew his sword and struck down at Ethan on the ground.

  Ethan, like the two Death Knights, had fallen to the ground while maintaining the frozen posture from before. The Templars couldn't even maneuver his stiff body into a position that was easy to bind. Then, the sudden appearance of the phoenix had made everyone too distracted to pay attention to this person whom the Pope had turned into a puppet. It was only now that Lancelot seemed to suddenly realize this, drawing his sword to strike at Ethan on the ground.

  But just as Lancelot made his move, Ethan also abruptly snapped out of that puppet-like state. He rolled to his feet, dodged Lancelot's slash, and charged towards the Temple Knight who was holding Aimee.

  The moment the giant angel appeared above the Grand Hall of Light, Ethan felt the power that had been shackling him begin to dissipate. He had originally planned to take advantage of everyone's attention being drawn to the great battle in the sky to launch a sneak attack and rescue Aimee, but the moment he showed any sign of movement, Lancelot had noticed.

  Aimee had long been seized by the same Temple Knight who had appeared in Moriel's cave in Nighon. In his grasp, she didn't even have a chance to cast a spell. And since the giant angel appeared in the sky, the attention of both her and the Temple Knight had been captured. They were, or had been, devout believers, and this miracle in the sky could indeed infinitely magnify any trace of a deity's shadow remaining in a person's heart.

  So when Ethan pounced, the Temple Knight finally reacted. He immediately drew his sword and held it to Aimee's neck, shouting at Ethan, "Stop!"

  In this hasty reaction, he had no time to parry or block, so he could only use this tactic, which was generally very effective: a threat.

  But Ethan had no intention of stopping. Instead, he drew his dagger and struck. The blade's light was like a dull clap of black thunder, with such overwhelming force it seemed it would shatter both the Temple Knight and the Aimee in his grasp.

  The Temple Knight had no choice but to let go and retreat. But the seemingly ferocious blade light suddenly vanished just as it reached Aimee. Before Aimee could react to what was happening, her vision blurred, and the sound of wind roared in her ears. She was already being pulled away by Ethan as they ran.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Rodhart and Sylka also regained their ability to move, but strangely, these two Death Knights, who were originally exceptionally swift, were now no better than ordinary men. They stood up shakily, like toddlers learning to walk, struggling to move their bodies. The white rain of light falling from the sky instantly merged with the bodies of the priests, healing their wounds. But when it landed on the bodies of these two Death Knights, it was like ice water on a red-hot branding iron, letting out a sizzling sound and giving off a nauseating stench, which then dissipated into the air filled with white magic.

  "Stop." Another cry to "stop," but this time from Lancelot's mouth. He had already caught up to Ethan as if he were his shadow. He thrust out his sword. Ethan still did not stop. With one arm holding Aimee, he leaped into the air, turned, and met Lancelot's long sword with a strike of his own. Of course, he could not stop. This was the best chance to escape from Celeste. Although the ground was still covered with priests and Templars, the mythical battle in the sky had long since left them with no time for anything else.

  Amidst the loud clang of sword and dagger, Ethan's black dagger flew into the air; he had thrown it himself. Lancelot's sword had not inflicted much damage, but the suction force on the blade, along with the follow-through momentum of the strike, made it completely impossible for Ethan to retreat further. Even if he couldn't defeat Ethan in a single strike, the gap in their swordsmanship was still immeasurably large. So, Ethan had no choice but to abandon his dagger and throw a punch. He intended to use this punch to borrow force and continue his retreat.

  Just as his fist and the sword were about to meet, Lancelot's sword pulled back slightly, then thrust heavily into his fist. In that brief pull and release, he had avoided the instant when the Battle Qi on the fist was at its peak.

  The sword tip only pierced his flesh, not too deep, breaking a few metacarpal bones. But Ethan felt as if this sword had pierced through the marrow of his wrist, arm, and all the way to his shoulder, almost impaling him completely.

  Fortunately, this white rain of light from the sky was indiscriminate. The dense white magic instantly surged into his body, healing the grievous wound inflicted by the sword's energy. Ethan let out a muffled groan, and all his Necromancy power condensed into a massive green fireball that flew from his hand.

  If this were any other place, any other occasion, such a necromantic fireball would surely make anyone retreat. But this was The Radiant Citadel, and moreover, it was bathing in the white rain of light descending from the Archangel. The green fireball had just left his palm when it began to rapidly shrink, like a lump of butter dropped into boiling water. By the time it reached Lancelot, he merely struck it with his sword. The fireball was shattered into a sky full of green sparks, which were then completely dissolved by the white magic in the air.

  The purity and vastness of the white magic that filled every corner of The Radiant Citadel was far beyond the reach of any human mage. Even top-tier Necromancers like Sandro or Vedenina would not have much effect casting spells here. The figure flying in the sky was one from myths and legends. This was no longer a place for mortals.

  However, Lancelot was indeed slightly delayed by this fireball, and Ethan once again widened the distance.

  The hymns and sacred songs still resounded throughout The Radiant Citadel. The white rain of light fell like silk threads. The priests and swordsmen were all immersed in this sacred scene. In comparison, the fight between the two seemed insignificant, and almost no one paid it any mind.

  But suddenly, with a loud clang, a sword blocked Ethan's path as he fled. This time, he finally stopped. Because this sword was far more intimidating and effective than those of the Temple Knights or Lancelot.

  It was a wavy-bladed Decapitating Greatsword. A giant sword so large one had to look up at it. Stuck in the ground, it was like a high tower. And taller than this tower was the golden-armored figure beside it—majestic, imposing, and so sacred that one could almost not help but kneel and worship. White holy light enveloped his body, and the pair of giant, feathery wings behind his back blotted out the sky. His face, covered in golden hair and a beard, remained expressionless, but his eyes, filled with the light of fine gold, looked down, down at the ant-like human at his feet.

  No one else had noticed, but this Archangel, who was in the midst of a fierce battle with the Fire Phoenix, had noticed. He had actually torn himself away from the intense fight to stop his escape. The divine might was like a prison. Ethan stopped, stunned, almost unable to resist the urge to kneel.

  He did not believe in God. But whether he believed or not, this majesty, this pressure, this feeling of his own insignificance, was undeniable and irresistible.