Chapter - 70
The candles in the children’s hands flared, the sickly green flames writhing like living things.
The black-robed fanatic standing at the pulpit, stopped smiling. His face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Heretic!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You dare interrupt the cleansing? You dare defile this sacred ritual with your presence?"
He thrust his hands forward, fingers hooked like claws.
"Consume him!"
The green flames leaped from the candle wicks. They didn’t burn the children’s hands. Instead, they detached, floating through the air like five serpentine spirits, trailing smoke and a scent of sulfur. They swirled around the stage before diving toward the two massive, decorative suits of armor standing guard on either side of the altar.
The armor was ceremonial—heavy plate painted in the Temple’s signature red and white, holding massive stone greatswords. They were supposed to be statues. Decoration.
But as the green fire slammed into their visors, the metal groaned.
CREAAAK.
The sound was like a ship’s hull tearing apart. The empty helmets suddenly flared with green light where eyes should be. The heavy stone swords were lifted with impossible ease.
The statues stepped off their pedestals, the floor cracking under their weight.
"Animated armor?" Leo scoffed, drawing his Twin Serpent Daggers. "That’s a Level 1 dungeon trick. I expected better."
He was wrong.
The first armor, the Red Saint, didn’t lumber. It lunged. It moved with a terrifying, fluid speed that shouldn’t have been possible for something made of stone and iron.
The massive greatsword swung in a horizontal arc, aiming to bisect Leo at the waist.
Leo’s Predator’s Instincts screamed. He threw himself backward, his spine cracking as he arched out of the way. The stone blade whistled past his chest, the wind of its passage cutting a thin line across his cheek.
[HP: 1980 / 2000]
"Okay," Leo muttered, wiping the drop of blood from his face. "Faster than they look."
He didn’t retreat. He used the momentum to spin, driving his left dagger into the joint of the armor’s elbow.
CLANG.
Sparks flew. The dagger bounced off the painted steel as if he had struck a mountain.
[System Alert: Target Resistance High. Poison Immunity Active.]
"Immune to poison. Of course," Leo hissed.
The second armor, the White Saint, was already moving. It swept low, trying to take his legs out. Leo leaped, tucking his knees, landing on the flat of the blade for a fraction of a second before backflipping away.
It was a 2-on-1 fight against tanks that moved like assassins.
They worked in perfect sync. The Red Saint attacked high, a vertical chop that smashed a heavy oak pew into splinters. The White Saint thrust low, the stone tip of its sword pulverizing a marble pillar.
Leo was forced entirely on the defensive. He dodged, weaved, and rolled, using every point of his Agility: 38 just to stay alive. The congregation was screaming, a stampede of terrified citizens trampling each other to get to the doors. The children on stage were huddled together, wailing in terror.
The constructs didn’t care. They smashed through the holy furniture, destroying their own temple to get to him.
Leo miscalculated. He dodged the Red Saint’s swing, but he didn’t see the White Saint’s backhand coming.
A heavy metal gauntlet caught him in the ribs.
CRACK.
It felt like getting hit by a runaway carriage.
Leo flew backward, crashing into the stone altar. The impact knocked the wind out of him, stars exploding in his vision.
[HP: 1550 / 2000]
[HP: 1400 / 2000]
He rolled off the altar just as a stone sword smashed it into dust. He scrambled to his feet, wheezing, clutching his side.
"Alright," Leo growled, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ruined floor. "No more Mr. Nice Guy."
He reached into his inventory. His hand closed around a specific card.
The Thunderbolt Card.
"You like magic?" Leo snarled, holding the card up. "Eat lightning, you tin cans."
He prepared to tear it. He was going to nuke the entire stage.
"STOP! YOU IMBECILES!"
A shrill, furious voice echoed from the balcony high above the altar.
Everyone froze. Leo looked up.
High Priest Remus was standing at the railing. He didn’t look holy. He looked apoplectic. He raised a hand, his fingers twisted in a complex sigil, and shouted a single, guttural word of power that vibrated in Leo’s teeth.
"HALT!"
The effect was instant. The green fire in the armors’ eyes snuffed out. The heavy stone swords dropped to their sides with a thud. The constructs froze mid-step, locking back into their statuesque poses as if they had never moved.
Remus wasn’t done. He grabbed a heavy, solid gold candlestick from a table on the balcony and hurled it down with surprising strength.
BONK.
It missed Initiate Malos’s head by an inch, smashing into the stone floor and leaving a dent.
"You mushroom-headed idiot!" Remus screamed, his face turning a violent shade of purple. "Who told you to activate the Saints inside the nave?! Do you know how much those pews cost? Do you want to bring the roof down on our biggest donors?!"
He unleashed a stream of vulgarity that would have made a dockworker blush. He cursed Malos’s mother, his intelligence, and his future prospects in the afterlife.
Then, Remus seemed to realize that the entire congregation—what was left of it—was staring at him in terrified silence.
He cleared his throat loudly. He straightened his white robes. A benevolent, grandfatherly smile plastered itself onto his face, though his eyes were still twitching with rage.
"Ah... apologies, my children," Remus boomed, spreading his arms wide. "The... ah... protective spirits were a bit overzealous today. A test of faith! Yes, a test. Go in peace. Mass is dismissed."
The crowd didn’t need telling twice. They fled.
Remus looked down at Leo, who was dusting stone chips off his coat and tucking the Thunderbolt Card back into his pocket.
"And you, Hero," Remus said, his voice dripping with honey. "Please. Join me upstairs. We have much to discuss."
Leo followed a nervous acolyte up a winding staircase to the private quarters behind the balcony.
Remus’s study was a stark contrast to the sterile white of the temple. It was lavish. Thick crimson carpets muffled their footsteps. The air smelled of expensive wine and potpourri. The walls were lined not with holy scriptures, but with paintings that were... questionable. Nymphs bathing. Succubi lounging.
Leo raised an eyebrow. He approved.
Remus was sitting in a high-backed leather chair. Up close, the High Priest looked terrible. He was hunched over, his skin grey and papery, his eyes sunken. The vitality he had shown at the party was gone. He looked like a man whose life force was slowly leaking out of a crack in his soul.
He poured two goblets of dark red wine with a shaking hand.
"Drink," Remus said, pushing a glass towards Leo. "It’s vintage. Better than the swill Caelum serves."
Leo took the glass but didn’t drink. He leaned back in his chair, watching the old man.
"You saved my life," Remus said, sighing heavily. "Or rather, you saved my furniture. That fanatic Malos... he takes the ’purge the darkness’ line too literally. He’s new. Enthusiastic. Stupid."
"You have guards like that," Leo gestured to the door, referencing the frozen armours downstairs. "Stone skin, super strength, immune to poison. Why didn’t you use them to save yourself from the assassins at the party? You could have wiped the floor with them."
Remus waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, the Iron Saints? They are... geobound. Ancient magic. They cannot leave the consecrated ground of the Temple. The magic fades if they cross the threshold. Besides..."
He puffed out his chest weakly, trying to look imposing. "I am a child of the Light. My faith is my shield. I do not need guards."
’Bullshit,’ Leo thought. ’You just didn’t want to reveal your trump card. Or you were too scared to use it.’
Remus smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. He changed the subject seamlessly.
"But you... ah, young Leo. A marvel! A whirlwind of blades! The way you dispatched those assassins... it was like watching poetry in motion. The Light surely shines upon your brow. You are the chosen warrior of our age! A paragon of strength and virtue!"
He went on, praising Leo’s build, his eyes, his aura. It was nauseatingly fake flattery, thick and sugary.
Leo set his glass down on the table with a hard clack.
"Cut the crap, old man," Leo said, his voice flat. "You didn’t invite me here to tell me I’m pretty. You want something. What is it?"
Remus stopped mid-sentence. The grandfatherly smile dropped instantly, replaced by a shrewd, calculating look. His eyes gleamed with a mix of desperation and greed.
"Direct," Remus murmured. "I like that. Very well."
He leaned forward, the firelight casting deep shadows on his withered face. He held up three trembling fingers.
"I have a proposition, Leo. A mutually beneficial arrangement."
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I need three small favours," Remus said. "Do them for me, and the Temple’s resources... and perhaps some of its more private collections... are yours."
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