Chapter 576: The Prince’s Game (2)
Standing beside Calistes, Aegon looked down at the severed arm.
"Is this the key?" he asked. And Calistes nodded.
"The runes on Blattier’s forearms serve as the activation keys for the War Angels. With him weakened to this degree and his arm removed, he can’t stop me from taking control any longer."
Clutching the severed arm, Calistes poured out sacred power, triggering the blood runes etched into his own flesh as well.
"Since I carry power equal to Blattier’s, since he’s too weakened to resist, and since I possess the same lost runes—we meet all the conditions. From this moment, the War Angels will obey me entirely."
As he spoke, he destroyed Blattier’s hand with a burst of power and drew the runic energy into himself.
The blood sigils flared ominously, winding around Calistes—who now stood as absolute master of those mighty angels.
"The War Angels are at my command—and I am at yours, Aegon Valerion."
Bowing to the prince, Calistes displayed complete fealty.
It was not loyalty bought overnight, but one forged long ago.
Blattier couldn’t speak, but questions stormed his mind.
When? How?
When had the prince turned Calistes? And how?
With a spy of Calistes’s rank embedded among the Church’s leaders, it meant Aegon had known everything—all of their secrets. Calistes had been one of the bishops steering it all beside Blattier.
In other words, Aegon had known the Church’s plans—had known they would betray the Empire in this war.
And yet he chose to stand aside and let the current carry events along—regardless of the losses suffered by the very Empire he was meant to inherit... regardless of all those dead.
Aegon had gambled all their lives for this moment.
"We’re alike, Blattier. We played the same game. The difference is, you’re just a hobbyist who found himself up against a player vastly above his level." Aegon laughed, and Calistes joined him.
They both laughed at Blattier—the old man who thought he had the world in his grasp, never realizing the serpent had already coiled around his neck.
"The Church won’t end here. It will rise again," Aegon said, gesturing to Calistes.
"Ramiel Calistes will be the new High Bishop. And given the method you used to manipulate that Revelation Tablet, it won’t be hard to gather your flock beneath the banner of ’the Lord of Light’s orders.’
"It’s truly absurd—how ready your followers are to carry out anything that comes down to them, whether it’s ordering them to kill themselves, violate their own families, or sacrifice each other! As long as it’s labeled ’the Lord of Light’s will,’ they’ll obey without hesitation! Isn’t that marvelous? Isn’t that sheer madness?!"
Aegon’s baleful laughter echoed through the great hall.
Blattier’s eyes slowly lost their light, a bitter expression frozen on his face.
The golden World Tree shuddered without cease, as if mourning the state humanity had fallen into.
Aegon Valerion had just laid his hand on a vast power... an entire faith, centuries old, was about to bend to his will.
Winning Calistes over to his side was a brutal blow to the Church, but the timing of Aegon’s strike was the real masterstroke—
delivered at the single most perfect moment, at the Church’s and Blattier’s weakest hour.
He used his allies. He used his enemies. He used everyone.
At the end of the day, Aegon stood on the verge of being the only winner.
From afar, Platini dragged himself back, seething with rage... while life fled Blattier’s eyes.
"It seems they’re breathing their last," Calistes said, stepping forward to finish them.
He was satisfied. He had never felt any bond with Blattier or Platini.
By siding with Aegon, he had secured the decisive power within the Church—the highest office. True, he would serve Aegon, but the prince’s side was the winning side he had chosen... the side that had given him everything he wanted.
Between the dying Blattier... the broken Platini... and Aegon and Calistes savoring every moment... the battle against the Church was entering its final act.
Calistes was about to end Blattier when he halted—because a young man finally arrived, soaked in blood.
"What happened here?" His eyes swept the chamber, trying to take it all in.
Snow Lionheart—the hero who had just slaughtered a terrifying number of the Church’s followers, forced to stain his hands with their blood.
"You finally made it... Snow Lionheart."
"Aegon, I asked you a damned question. Answer it." Snow was furious—and confused. He had not expected the prince to be here.
"We won, Snow. That’s what happened," Aegon said with a smile, gesturing at their enemies.
"Blattier has fallen—and with him, the entire Church."
He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world—so simple Snow couldn’t even form words.
He didn’t fully grasp what had happened, but seeing Calistes standing with Aegon was enough to make many things clear.
At the end of the day, it felt as though everyone had lost ..
and the only winner was Aegon Valerion.
Was this even a war?
Could it even be called a battle?
No..
It felt like a Play. A stage drama in which everyone had performed their parts:
Him, Frey, the Empire, the Ultrus, the Church ..
all of them acting out the show Aegon had prepared for them.
Not far from where they stood, Frey appeared as well, out of thin air—the angels he’d been fighting had vanished in some strange way.
Frey glanced over the situation, then his eyes drifted to the spring nearby—
—where a familiar girl he had been searching for lay.
She was completely naked, pierced by dozens of blood-filled tubes, a lattice of crimson runes carved across her skin.
"Uriel..."
"I wouldn’t get close, Frey Starlight. Touch her before she finishes receiving the inheritance, and she’ll die," Calistes warned, ready to say more—
—but fell silent the moment his eyes met Frey’s. The killing intent pouring off Frey’s body made the bishop break into a sweat.
Aegon spoke in his place.
"The Church’s elites depend on the rites of sacrifice. The Saint is no exception.
"The Lord of Light abandoned them long ago. This was the only way to preserve their legacy: one Saint after another .. passing it on through sacrifice, then transferring blood and power to the loyal successor.
"They’ve done this for years to maintain the Saints’ purity and strength... but the process puts a crushing strain on human bodies. That’s why they don’t live past their twenties."
And that was why Saint Yurasha had withered into an old crone the moment she was offered up.
"Their bodies burn through all their life force just to withstand the power forced into them—and some of them can’t even wield it properly."
"Their leaders grow stronger by sacrificing others, and their religion rests on a lie. That is the Church that captured the hearts of millions," Aegon said, eyes lifting to the golden tree—
—the World Tree, the only thing that had exceeded his expectations and seized his full attention.
Then he looked back to Frey standing before him.
By all rights, they had already won; their enemy had been defeated.
But for some reason, no one moved.
The killing intent refused to fade, and it was clear neither Frey nor Snow would leave without spilling someone’s blood.
But whose?
Between Aegon and Calistes...
Frey and Snow...
the dying Blattier, and Platini kneeling on the floor...
Uriel lying amid her own blood...
Silence fell—a silence that preceded the catastrophe whose consequences the world would suffer for many, many years to come.