Rakka's voice was calm, yet it carried an overwhelming pressure, like a colossal mountain pressing down on their shoulders.
Ikarys trembled slightly, unable to believe that a boy his age could possess such terrifying strength.
Dressed in ordinary clothes, wielding nothing more than a wooden sword, yet when Ikarys looked at Rakka, he felt like he was staring at an enormous beast, a towering peak stretching into the clouds—one he could never hope to surpass.
"Kill him!" Ikarys shouted, his voice shaking. "Kill him for me! Whoever kills him will take control of the Church!"
The three others hesitated, not rushing into action, as their minds still struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
The Assassin was dead—killed in an instant, effortlessly.
What was that sword aura just now?
They didn't know, but when they saw it, they felt an indescribable sense of destruction—something they had never experienced before.