Chapter 439: Summoning the Legion
That frenzied power—just watching it from afar—was enough to send shivers down one’s spine.
They were even reminded of the legend of the Gate of Annihilation before the New Testament Era.
Exchanging glances, they silently signaled the warriors to turn around.
They figured that the search for the dragon could be postponed. First, they should send someone to the Senate to sound things out and see what was actually happening in the Northern Regions.
“It should be Olivia and Aen who are fighting,” said Jeven, looking toward the north.
The Northwind Mountains blocked his view, but they could not block his Revelation.
“From the looks of it, Aen has grown stronger—strong enough to rival Olivia,” George stood by Jeven’s side.
“Not just rival. He should be able to defeat Olivia,” Jeven added with a hint of admiration in his tone.
“He could become that powerful?” George was visibly surprised.
He knew well how strong Olivia was. Long ago, she had already reached the peak of what was humanly possible. Even George himself would have to risk his life to defeat her.
“To trade one’s life for strength—of course that would allow one to erupt with power beyond the limit, even if only for a short time,” Jeven said. “And Olivia chose to take on three opponents.”
“Three?”
“She’s challenging Aen and his two dragons all by herself,” Jeven replied.
“Olivia might be in danger?” George frowned.
“She’s always been prideful, and pride pushes her to pursue the extreme. But it’s clear now—Aen is equivalent to the entire Northern Regions. And the Northern Regions themselves are at the level of a Demigod. Even if Aen’s body cannot fully bear it, he can still approach that realm,” said Jeven.
“If she’s only defeated or injured, it’s not a big deal.” Though those were his words, George had already gripped his sword.
“But the Wrath of the Northland is pure fury—fury that annihilates everything.” Jeven lowered his head, no longer gazing toward the north.
“What about the Golden Lion?”
“It was heavily injured before. Now it can at most exert the power of Tier Six. But dragons are stronger than the Golden Lion. Olivia’s mother is still present, but if she emerges, Olivia will lose the continuous flow of life force. Moreover, though she’s a Demigod, she’s an incomplete one. In terms of combat strength, she cannot stand against Aen who is now connected to the entire Northern Regions.”
“I must go,” George took two steps forward, then suddenly stopped and turned to look at Jeven.
“Why do you know so much? Even with Revelation, you shouldn’t be this precise,” he asked.
Jeven smiled, repeating what he had just said, “To trade one’s life for strength—of course that would allow one to erupt with power beyond the limit, even if only for a short time.”
“To go that far…” George’s frown deepened.
“The earth below is stirring. The Black Cup of the Land of Sin is spewing evil. The tides beneath the sea are roaring. The black wolf of the South has opened its eyes. Even if meteors fall, the starlight still gleams within the darkness,” Jeven intoned like a chant.
“Even if Revelation still functions normally, we can no longer contact the Pope. And there are still two years until the Crown Prince ascends the Throne. We cannot touch the future—we dare not. We are lost in the future.”
George listened, then calmly closed his eyes and activated the Prayer Technique. Only then did he understand the seemingly shallow, yet cryptic message in Jeven’s words.
Then, George fell silent. But finally, he said, “Our mission has always been just one—not for a nation, not for a person, but for the future.”
Jeven smiled. “Indeed, Knight George, you are right. We must not lose our way.”
George gave Jeven a long, deep look—then, in a flash, he transformed into golden Streams of Light, dashing toward the north. Judging by his direction, it seemed he would charge straight through the Northwind Mountains.
After George left, Jeven stood still for a long while, before finally summoning Odysseus.
“Bishop,” Odysseus knelt on one knee and greeted him with reverence.
Jeven said, “Odysseus, the Black Cup in the East is overflowing with evil. We have tolerated it long enough. Now, the time for Purification has come.”
A flicker stirred in Odysseus’ eyes—the Black Cup, that once-black cocoon upon the Theocracy’s city.
“Yes, Bishop!” His voice was solemn.
“Summon the Holy Warriors, the Temple Warriors, the Virtue Knights, and the Chorus of Maidens. I shall raise the Holy Anchor and, together with you, purify the Black Cup,” Jeven’s voice grew increasingly impassioned.
So impassioned that Odysseus could feel his blood boiling.
On the eastern coast of Greenwood, Dragon-Eagles soared.
Above the sea, Salvador’s body was covered in wounds, its movements agitated and uneasy.
“Those Fishmen under the sea have gone mad. They keep surging toward the coast. My children are entangled in battle with them, but the frontlines have collapsed. The offspring born from the hundreds of thousands of Fishmen we once consumed are nearly exhausted,” its voice was trembling with fear.
“I must return—the sea is too dangerous now!” Even its voice became a roar of terror.
He enhanced his vision with Magic, allowing him to see beneath the depths. The Fishmen were frenziedly tearing at the Piranhas.
They had completely abandoned any pretense of intelligent combat, fighting like wild beasts—with teeth and claws alone.
Even though Richard knew how strict the Fishmen’s social hierarchy was, such unbridled savagery chilled him to the bone.
Especially in the sky above, where one could clearly see countless black dots crashing into each other beneath the sea, each collision blooming into blood.
And yet, among these Fishmen, there were no appearances of any Deep Divers. It seemed they were merely cannon fodder.
What on earth was happening under the sea?
Was this the collapse of the Nation of Fishmen?
And the Senate—no, Agamemnon—what exactly did he know?
Just days ago, Agamemnon had told him to take advantage of the absence of the nobles and mobilize all warriors within the Eastern Adrian Diocese.
After returning and reporting this to Bishop Marl, the bishop had ordered the priests to assist him—and then shut himself inside the cathedral’s secret chamber, where he had yet to emerge.
He patted the bristling Crulud.
The Dragon-Eagle’s vision far exceeded his own.
“Let’s go back. Mobilize the troops. Trouble is coming,” he said.
“Of course I saw it. Did you really need to say that?” Crulud’s voice even trembled, much like Salvador’s.
Richard patted Crulud again and said no more, turning his gaze northward to where Salvador was speeding away.
To the north lay the path it had once used to enter the sea. Without a domain to replenish its Magic, retracing the old path would conserve more energy.
But Richard had a strange feeling—something was off about Salvador now.