Chapter 94: STOP!

The priests, bishops, and all clergy had already bowed down before this miracle. Yet, the Pope—the highest-ranking figure, the one proclaimed as God's voice on earth—remained standing.

Another figure of equally high status, Lancelote, the leader of the Holy Knights and bearer of the Paladin title bestowed by the Pope, also did not kneel. He did not even lift his head to look at the angel in the sky. Instead, he suddenly drew his sword and slashed at Asa on the ground.

Like the two Death Knights, Asa remained frozen in the posture he had been in when he was immobilized, lying stiffly on the ground. The Holy Knights had even struggled to move his rigid body into a position suitable for binding. But then, the sudden appearance of the phoenix had diverted everyone's attention away from the three individuals whom the Pope had turned into puppets.

Only now did Lancelote seem to snap out of his trance—without hesitation, he drew his sword and struck at Asa on the ground.

Just as Lancelote moved, Asa suddenly broke free from his puppet-like state. He flipped over, dodging Lancelote's strike, and sprang toward the Holy Knight holding Ayime.

The moment the massive angel appeared above the Glory Hall, Asa felt the restraints suppressing his power begin to dissipate. His original plan was to take advantage of everyone's distraction with the battle above and launch a sneak attack to rescue Ayime. However, the instant he showed any signs of movement, Lancelote noticed.

Ayime had long been captured by the same Holy Knight who had previously appeared in the cave of Moriel in Nigen. In his grasp, she had no chance to cast spells. And ever since the massive angel emerged in the sky, both she and the Holy Knight had been mesmerized. They were, or had once been, devout believers. This divine miracle above amplified even the faintest trace of faith within them, making it seem boundless and overwhelming.

As Asa lunged forward, the Holy Knight finally snapped out of his daze. He immediately drew his sword and pressed it against Ayime's neck, shouting at Asa, "Stop!"

In his haste, he had no time to block or counterattack, so he resorted to a tactic that was usually very effective—threatening.

But Asa showed no intention of stopping. Instead, he drew his blade and slashed. The arc of his strike was like a dark thunderclap, carrying an unstoppable force, as if it would cleave both the Holy Knight and Ayime into dust.

Forced to release his grip, the Holy Knight retreated. However, just as the fierce slash reached Ayime, the deadly blade light suddenly vanished.

Before Ayime could even process what had happened, her vision blurred, the wind roared in her ears, and she found herself being whisked away—Asa had grabbed her and was already sprinting at full speed.

Roghart and Hilika had also regained their mobility, but strangely, the two Death Knights—once unnaturally swift—now moved clumsily, even slower than ordinary people. Like infants taking their first steps, they wobbled as they struggled to stand and drag their bodies forward.

The white rain of light pouring down from above melted into the priests' bodies, instantly healing their wounds. But when it touched the two Death Knights, it reacted like ice water splashing onto red-hot iron, sizzling with a faint hissing sound. A nauseating stench rose from their bodies, only to be quickly purified and dispersed by the white magic saturating the air.

"Stop."

Another command to halt—but this time, the voice belonged to Lancelote. He had already caught up to Asa, his presence like an unshakable shadow. Without hesitation, he thrust his sword forward.

Asa still did not stop. Holding Ayime in one arm, he twisted mid-air and met Lancelote's sword with a slash of his own. Stopping was never an option—this was his best chance to escape Celeste. Though priests and Holy Knights still filled the area, the mythical battle raging above had consumed all their attention.

With a deafening clash of steel, Asa's black blade flew into the air—flung away by his own hand. Lancelote's strike wasn't particularly lethal, but the pull of his sword and the force behind it left Asa no room to retreat.

Even if Lancelote couldn't defeat Asa in a single blow, the gap in their swordsmanship was undeniable. Asa had no choice but to abandon his blade and throw a punch instead. He wasn't aiming to attack—he was using the impact to propel himself backward, desperate to keep his momentum.

Just as Asa's fist was about to clash with the sword, Lancelote subtly withdrew his blade for an instant before driving it forward again, striking heavily against Asa's hand. In that brief moment of retraction and thrust, he had perfectly avoided the peak of Asa's fight spirit.

The sword tip pierced only shallowly into the flesh, breaking a few metacarpal bones. Yet, Asa felt as though the blade had stabbed straight through his wrist, arm, and into the very marrow of his shoulder—almost as if he were being skewered whole.

Fortunately, the white rain of light descending from above showed no distinction between friend or foe. The rich white magic instantly surged into his body, rapidly healing the wounds inflicted by Lancelote's sword energy.

Asa let out a muffled grunt. Summoning every last bit of his necromantic power, he condensed it into a massive green fireball that erupted from his palm.

If this had been anywhere else, in any other setting, a Necrotic Fireball like this would have surely forced any opponent to retreat. Unfortunately, this was the Glory Fortress, bathed in the white rain of the Archangel's descent. The moment the green fireball left Asa's palm, it began to rapidly shrink, like a lump of butter thrown into boiling water. By the time it reached Lancelote, he simply swung his sword, shattering the fireball into a shower of green sparks that was then completely dissolved by the overwhelming white magic in the air.

The purity and vastness of the white magic filling every corner of the Glory Fortress was far beyond the reach of any human mage. Even top-tier Necromancers like Sandru and Vadenina would find their magic nearly ineffective here. The towering figure above, a divine presence beyond the realm of myth, ensured this space was no longer one for mortals.

Still, Lancelote was briefly halted by the fireball, just enough for Asa to gain some distance once again.

The hymns and sacred songs still echoed throughout the Glory Fortress, and the white rain of light fell like silk. The priests and swordsmen were completely immersed in this divine scene, while the battle between Asa and Lancelote seemed almost insignificant by comparison. No one paid much attention to it.

But then, suddenly, a loud crash sounded, and a sword blocked Asa's path as he raced forward. This time, he was forced to stop. The sword that stood in his way was far more intimidating and effective than those of the Holy Knight or Lancelote.

It was a beheading sword with a wavy blade, a massive sword so large it demanded one to look up to it. It was planted in the ground like a towering spire. And standing beside it, even taller than this tower, was a figure clad in golden armor—majestic, imposing, and so sacred that one might feel compelled to kneel and worship. The angel radiated white holy light, its massive wings casting shadows across the sky. Its face, adorned with golden whiskers, remained expressionless, but its piercing, brilliant eyes were locked on Asa, on the tiny human standing before it like an insignificant insect.

No one had noticed, but the Archangel, who was locked in a fierce battle with the Fire Phoenix, had somehow split its attention and intervened to stop Asa's escape.

The awe of the divine is like an unbreakable prison. Asa halted in his tracks, momentarily stunned, and the overwhelming presence almost forced him to kneel.

He did not believe in God. But regardless of belief, the sheer majesty, the crushing pressure, and the undeniable sense of his own insignificance were inescapable, irrefutable, and impossible to resist.