“The Angel Corps…” Cain whispered, awe in his voice.
In a matter of minutes, the battlefield changed. The disciplined formation of the Angel Corps swept through the burning ruins like a divine storm. Their light-based soul skills erupted, cutting through the waves of beasts with frightening precision.
Wherever they passed, the howls of the soul beasts faded. Even three-thousand-year-old monsters fell before their might.
Cain turned to Lu Ping again, noticing that he wasn’t wearing the same holy armor as the others.
“You’re not one of them?” Cain asked curiously.
Lu Ping smirked, brushing blood off his arm. “No. Just a civilian soul master who happened to cross paths with the Angel Corps. They don’t mind an extra hand when there’s killing to do.”
In the distance, a commander of the Angel Corps raised her Sword type martial soul light shining from its tip like a miniature sun.
“Purge the higher age ones! Capture the ones with lower age to be used for soul rings!” she commanded.
Her voice was cold filled with unquestionable authority.
The attack of soul beasts on the village was brought under control in few minutes after the intervention of the Angel Corps.
With Lu Ping’s steady hand under his shoulder, Cain limped toward the village square. The air still carried the acrid scent of burnt fur and blood. Here and there, faint trails of smoke rose from collapsed huts, their ashes carried away by the morning wind.
When they arrived, the scene that greeted them was painfully quiet.
Dozens of survivors huddled together near the half-destroyed well, their faces blank, their eyes swollen from crying. The Angel Corps had gathered what bodies they could find—those still recognizable—and placed them neatly in rows in the square.
Family members knelt beside them, weeping softly. A few clung to what was left of their loved ones’ clothes, unwilling to let go.
Even the soldiers of the Angel Corps, cold and disciplined as they were, stood a step back in respectful silence. Their white armor reflected the dull light of dawn like mourning shrouds.
Then, the stillness broke.
A woman, her face streaked with tears, suddenly stood and screamed. She was holding a young boy’s lifeless body in her arms, his hair matted with blood.
“Why—” she cried hoarsely, “why did you come so late!? If it was the empire’s army, if it was the nobles’ soldiers, they would have saved us! My son—my son would still be alive!”
Her wail echoed through the air, carrying both grief and anger.
The Angel Corps soldiers stiffened, but none replied. Their expressions remained calm, even detached—almost as if they were used to such accusations.
But someone else spoke.
“Enough.”
The voice came sharp and loud—it was Lu Ping’s.
He walked forward, his red-furred martial soul fading away as he released his possession state. His amber eyes glowed faintly as he glared at the woman.
“Shame on you,” he said coldly. “Shame on you for still believing in the empire’s protection.”
The woman froze, taken aback. The others looked at him uneasily.
Lu Ping stepped closer, his voice rising like a tide. “The empire’s soldiers protect nobles, not people like you! You—farmers, traders, craftsmen—you’re nothing but numbers in their records. Do you even know why the Angel Corps came here instead?”
He jabbed a finger toward the burning forest.
“Because half a day ago, the neighboring village was already attacked. The news reached the city long before the beasts reached you. The army didn’t move. They never do.”
His lips curled. “Because to them, a few dozen dead civilians isn’t worth their rations.”
Silence blanketed the square. No one dared breathe too loudly.
Cain, watching beside him, felt a strange shiver down his spine. There was fire in Lu Ping’s tone, not just anger, but conviction.
Lu Ping took a deep breath, his voice now deep and resonant.
“But do you know why the Angel Corps fight for you? Why the—Spirit Hall’s soul masters—march into danger while the empire hides behind walls?”
He raised his hand toward the heavens. “Because they follow the will of the Angel Goddess. The light that sees all without distinction—noble or commoner, rich or poor.”
He turned slowly, sweeping his gaze over the gathered villagers.
“Have you ever prayed to her? Have you ever thanked the Angel Goddess for remembering you when the nobles never did?”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. People lowered their heads in shame or confusion. A few began to whisper prayers under their breath, unsure of what to do.
Then, from among the frightened villagers, a small boy stepped forward. His clothes were torn, his cheeks streaked with dust and tears.
“Uncle,” he sobbed, “what should we do now? How do we thank the Angel Goddess?”
Lu Ping’s fierce expression softened. He bent down, lowering himself to the boy’s height. His eyes gleamed faintly, a mix of compassion and fervor.
“Child,” he said softly, “I’ll teach you. Repeat after me.”
The boy wiped his tears and nodded.
Lu Ping lifted his hand, and his voice took on a strange rhythm—like a prayer and an oath intertwined.
“The Almighty, Angel Goddess,
The one who has gazed upon this place from beyond........”
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