Chapter Seventy-Seven: A Magnificent Entrance

The white spiritual light was not ordinary energy, but a force summoned through faith, directly invoking the power of the gods. The beings of darkness feared nothing more than divine might; for this spiritual radiance, the white-robed bishop was absolutely confident. Yet, as he witnessed the terror in Jovale's eyes, he failed to notice the fleeting sigh from Lannomans.

Jovale wanted to evade; he knew he could not withstand that light. But to his horror, he quickly discovered he could not escape. Somehow, he now stood between the two half-beast werewolves and the white-robed bishop—if he dodged, the lives of the two children behind him would be at grave risk.

Resolved, Jovale decided to try and take the spiritual light head-on. With a roar, the blistering, naked beam of light reached him in an instant. The closer he felt its power, the less confident he became in his ability to endure it. Yet he could not retreat. Despair and resignation flashed through his mind; he closed his eyes.

Perhaps he would soon regret closing his eyes at that moment, missing the spectacle that unfolded. As Jovale shut his eyes in despair, a distant violet glow suddenly spread across the horizon. Lannomans was the first to notice this change; among all present, his strength was the greatest, so it was only natural he would be the first to sense it.

However, Lannomans did not know why violet light appeared in the eastern sky. Before he could fully process it, a bewitching violet longsword was already flying toward them at incredible speed.

Compared to the aura carried by the violet sword, the spiritual light summoned by the white-robed bishop was insignificant—like an ant before a towering giant.

A violent surge of energy swept over all present, and the violet sword plummeted from the sky like a wild swan, its target the white-robed bishop.

The result was inevitable. In an instant, the bishop exploded, flesh and blood scattering, and then, under the force of the violet glow, was reduced to dust.

All this happened in the blink of an eye—by the time those present realized what was happening, it was already over. The only proof that it was real was the violet sword now embedded halfway in the ground, and the missing bishop.

Lannomans stared in terror at the sword flickering in the semicircular pit—the immense crater had been carved out by its impact. The spiritual light summoned by the bishop faded away as he perished, as if it had never existed.

The members of the Church could hardly believe their eyes. Their revered bishop had been defeated so easily? Defeated without even seeing the enemy?

As the Church members stood dumbfounded, those of the Dark Council recognized their opportunity. They would not let such a chance slip by, and so, one by one, they launched a fierce counterattack, fighting with strength beyond their usual limits. Soon, cries of agony filled the air—but now, it was the Church members who suffered.

Jovale waited for pain that never came, then opened his eyes. The scene before him was utterly unexpected—the situation had been completely reversed. Where was the beam of light that had targeted him? Where was the bishop?

All these questions were answered when a figure entered the scene: the one who had just returned from the east—Cold Flame, our protagonist.

He had been absent for some time, perhaps somewhat disgruntled. Thus, his return was nothing short of spectacular. The white-robed bishop died a most unjust death, caught up in Cold Flame’s dazzling arrival.

Cold Flame ignored the confused and shocked stares of those present, jumped into the deep pit, and pulled out the violet sword embedded in the earth. "You don't have to look at me like that. Go on, continue—pretend I don't exist. I'm just passing through."

Who could possibly continue as if nothing had happened? How could anyone ignore Cold Flame's presence? After such a shocking entrance, only a fool would pretend he wasn't there.

With Cold Flame's arrival, the balance instantly tipped in favor of the Dark Council. Among the Church, aside from the bishop, only a few holy knights could still put up a fight; as for the silver-armored warriors, they now seemed nothing more than a faith-driven rabble lacking true strength.

Lannomans found himself watched by Cold Flame. Under Cold Flame's gaze, he lacked even the courage to move. He didn’t realize this was simply because Cold Flame deliberately released his own oppressive aura.

Lannomans was torn inside—how had events so thoroughly gone off track? The one-sided slaughter completely violated his original intention of refining the Church’s ranks. To take the essence and discard the dregs—now both were lost. How could he not be conflicted?

Cold Flame cast him a wicked glance; Lannomans sensed there was something more behind that look, but he couldn’t fathom it. Cold Flame approached the two half-beast werewolves, smiled at the still-panicked faces of the children, and patted their heads. In truth, Cold Flame was about their age—such a gesture seemed strange, but at this moment, no one found it inappropriate. Power decided everything.

Soon, the Church’s forces were almost entirely eliminated, leaving only Lannomans alive.

Jovale, full of excitement, came before Cold Flame, knelt on one knee, and respectfully said, "Thank you, Young Master, for saving us." He had intended to address him as Lady, but corrected himself just in time. Though Cold Flame had not taken any direct action, his appearance, the slaying of a bishop, and the intimidation of a red-robed archbishop enabled the Dark Council to triumph in this battle.

"It was nothing—just happened to pass by," Cold Flame waved his hand, just as he said, merely passing through.

At that moment, several dark figures flew in from afar. As they drew near, it became clear they were vampires, led by the head of the Revono clan. It seemed they had received word and rushed here from the vampire council.

There were seventy or eighty vampires in all. Arriving before Cold Flame, they bowed deeply. The leader, head of the Revono clan, said, "Revono has brought his people late, please forgive us, Young Master."

Cold Flame shook his head. "It’s not your fault. Everything is fine now—no need for such ceremony." Then he turned to Lannomans, now alone, and said, "You may leave. We won’t trouble you."

Lannomans was doubtful, staring at Cold Flame for a long time. He knew the child before him was no ordinary person—even the vampires treated him with utmost respect. That alone spoke volumes. As a captive with no way out, he was prepared to die at any moment. Now, suddenly, he was told he could leave—how could he not be astonished?

"Why?" Lannomans asked in a hoarse voice.

Not only Lannomans, but the surrounding vampires and members of the Dark Council were equally puzzled. Yet, under Cold Flame’s overwhelming presence, they wisely kept silent.

Cold Flame shrugged. "If you won’t leave, do you want me to invite you to dinner?" He joked, then grew serious. "Don’t bother hiding your intentions—it’s useless before the strong. But your purpose interests me. Survival of the fittest, elimination of the weak—you’re a clever man. I won’t stand in your way. Good luck."

With that, he allowed Lannomans to depart, and led his people toward their destination.

Lannomans’ heart was in turmoil, a touch of fear growing within him. He found the child terrifying, as if his innermost thoughts had been laid bare. To be exposed so nakedly before another—how could one remain calm?

Cold Flame cared nothing for Lannomans’ feelings. At that moment, he and the vampires were flying toward the site of an important meeting. The other members of the Dark Council had already been dismissed; the two half-beast werewolves were sent back to their tribe.

The location was once again the estate of the Smith Independent Clan. Since Ruth became the vampire patriarch, the Smith estate had become the main base for the vampires, with clan leaders frequently visiting.

Today’s meeting was held here, centered on the upcoming Dark Council election. The progenitor Cain had created the bloodline—the vampires. Facing the Church's growing power, the dark races united with the vampires to avoid extinction, founding an organization capable of contending with the Church—the Dark Council.

The Dark Council was a complex coalition, including all dark creatures. In the beginning, the vampires held absolute command, but as time passed, though they remained a major force, their dominance began to waver. Most notably, the chairmanship had passed to others. The current chairman of the Council was a dark sorcerer, a testament to the survival of the fittest. This sorcerer was indeed formidable—his abilities rivaled those of the vampire princes. His meteoric rise cost the vampires the leadership.

Nagaz was the current chairman. Though powerful, his leadership was hardly commendable—mediocre and uninspired, insufficient both to build and to preserve. Under his guidance, the Dark Council had not grown, but shrunk somewhat, giving rise to much dissatisfaction.

Now, as the time for reelection approached, the vampires’ strength had surged. How could they miss such a golden opportunity?