Bishop Agrippa stared into the air, frozen.
He couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
As he watched the two figures walking toward him, it felt as if time had stopped.
His entire body stiffened—he couldn't even move a finger.
Is this really the end? So easily?
He couldn't accept it.
Did people truly understand what the Priests of Silence were? What are the warrior monks?
And this place—was it not sacred ground, blessed by the Radiant One's power?
Even the strongest beings of the continent would see their abilities halved upon setting foot on this island.
That's why he hadn't been too concerned—even when the dragon had attacked, even when the strange magical ship appeared.
But now… had two people really defeated everyone?
"H-ha… haha… This must be a dream. It has to be…"
His mind teetered on the brink.
He tried desperately to hold on to reason and not fall into complete denial.
Now, no one remained by his side.
The warrior monks had been felled by the young man's arrows, swallowed by the sea.
The Priests of Silence had been torn apart by the old man's shadow-whip.
In their final moments, they had cried out for the Radiant One with all their hearts.
But there was no answer.
The Radiant One had slumbered since the final war—long beyond the reach of mortal pleas.
Where did it all go wrong…?
If there was any silver lining, it was that Julius was nowhere to be seen.
Surely he had escaped or gone into hiding.
No—he had to believe that. If Julius had been captured…
As Agrippa clung to this fragile hope, Michael looked at him with a smile.
"You seem worried. Looking for the missing blond priest? Don't worry—he's in my care."
Agrippa's last glimmer of hope shattered.
He looked up at the sky in a daze.
The sky… was unchanged.
While his entire world collapsed, the heavens remained serene—indifferent, even cruel.
How could he ever face the Radiant One in death ?
After generations of effort, the grand experiment was finally nearing its conclusion.
Only now had hope bloomed—that they might awaken the Radiant One.
But now… his heart felt like lead, and a crushing sense of futility devoured him.
He clung to his crumbling sanity.
His eyes burned with rage as he fixed them on Michael and Alfred.
Those two… they can never be forgiven.
They had ruined everything.
They had destroyed everything he had spent a lifetime pursuing.
They were true heretics—blasphemers who defied the will of the divine.
His hands began to shake—not from fear, but fury.
"You vile heretics! How dare you step foot on sacred ground, murder innocent priests, and desecrate the holy land with your profane magic? You will pay for your sins! May the Radiant One curse you both!"
Michael scoffed—at first incredulous, then increasingly enraged.
What kind of "innocent priest" burned people alive to offer their souls to a god?
What kind of "innocent priest" skinned children and let them die in agony?
Agrippa continued shouting, spitting curses with every word.
Michael, his expression now cold and sharp, drew his bow and took aim.
There was no need for this man—Julius was already in their hands.
The arrow sliced through the air, piercing Agrippa clean through the mouth.
How…? I had a barrier… I was sure…
In his final moments, confusion filled Agrippa's eyes.
Most of the Radiant One's remaining power had been devoted to his shield—yet it hadn't saved him.
But he never found his answer.
The Bishop of Silence, son of a former pope, and the man who had nearly achieved the resurrection of the Radiant One, fell in the most unceremonious of ends.
If only they had come a day later…
That was his final thought as death claimed him.
Even luck, in the end, is a kind of skill.
Alfred frowned as he looked down at Agrippa's corpse, a hole cleanly pierced through the bishop's forehead.
"There were always Holy Knights stationed here… Have they abandoned their post?"
The thought was fleeting, and his expression quickly relaxed.
In any case, the situation had turned out to be easier than expected—he was thankful for that.
Michael and Alfred moved without hesitation, stepping into the temple.
"This way, Grandfather."
Michael, sensing the divine power of the Radiant One, led Alfred toward the back of the temple.
The closer they got to a small decorative fountain, the stronger the energy became.
There was clearly a space beneath it.
Without bothering to search for any mechanism, Michael simply raised his fist and struck the fountain.
If one looked closely, there were probably hidden triggers or levers, but he saw no need for subtlety.
After all, the only people who lived here were affiliated with the Radiant Church—there was no reason to believe they had installed any truly complex security.
The granite fountain crumbled into powder.
Beneath it, a spiral staircase descended into the earth.
"Well done. Let's head down, then."
Alfred praised his grandson's decisiveness.
The stairway to the temple's underground was long—endlessly so.
Each step was hewn from rough stone, worn smooth by thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years.
Some strange mechanism was at work: magical lamps would not function here.
Only the eerie blue glow of rare minerals embedded in the walls and ceiling provided illumination.
The stones resembled moonlight, as if someone had captured starlight and fixed it in stone.
Though they were deep underground, it felt like gazing into a nighttime sky.
Miaomiao murmured with awe in her voice:
[I never thought I'd see Lamwolite down here… These stones can only be found in the Sphinx's Nest these days since the original mines vanished. But then again, this place is no different from an ancient temple.]
Alfred looked at her fondly.
"If you like it, would you care to take a few?"
The words instantly woke Marcus, who had been napping on Michael's shoulder.
True to his nature as a treasure-loving dragon, he reacted on instinct.
[Me too! I want some too, Grandfather!]
Ever since meeting Alfred and recognizing his power, Marcus had shown only reverence.