Chapter Eighty-Two: Holy War

Seven days later, in the Hermon Valley

On this day, Lucius led the members of the Dark Council early to the appointed place. He would never fail to keep his promise to the Church; after all, reputation is everything. For the sake of face, countless have fought to the death, and for sworn enemies like the Church and Dark Council, no opportunity to humiliate the other would ever be missed.

The Hermon Valley was a spacious gorge, flanked by mountains, forming a beautiful spindle shape. Its length and the solid rock walls made it all the more suited for battle, but most importantly, the valley was rarely visited by people—a rarity in all of Europe. It was precisely this isolation that led the Church to choose it as the site for this holy war.

This time, Lucius had not brought the entire force of the Dark Council, but only its elite warriors. Among the vampires, only those of count rank and above had come—one can never ignore threats to the rear. The same held true for dark wizards, half-orcs, and night elves. This holy war would be a decisive battle, a clash of the mightiest; bringing the weak would only increase casualties, serving no purpose at all. Quantity cannot always make up for lack of quality. Yet what was remarkable was the appearance of several rare races among Lucius’s warriors—races not under the Council’s jurisdiction, who did not attend its grand gatherings.

But after Lucius agreed to another holy war with the Church, word spread swiftly through both the light and the darkness. Those who belonged to the dark faction, long hidden from the world—indeed, almost erased from it—suddenly emerged, joining forces with the Dark Council to oppose the Church.

The Hellhounds, three-headed beasts hailed as guardians of the infernal gates, were renowned in the darkness. When one approached Lucius, he could scarcely believe his eyes—weren’t Hellhounds supposed to guard the entrance to Hell? When had they appeared in the mortal realm? Their existence itself was little more than legend. Yet when a Hellhound King arrived with dozens of its kin, the entire Council was left speechless. Their combat prowess rivaled that of vampire princes—none had appeared in previous wars, but now, perhaps the Church’s doom was nigh?

If the arrival of the Hellhounds brought excitement and power to the Council, then the next mysterious guest brought terror.

The Infernal Dragon—when it raised its proud head and declared its intent to join the holy war, every member of the Council was stunned, some even visibly fearful. Yes, fear—born from the dragon’s terrifying strength. Its body, so formidable that even vampires paled in comparison, its ferocious explosive power—Lucius himself might not be a match for it.

After these two legendary bosses appeared, the Council grew numb to further surprises. Other mysterious races emerged and caused little wonder—what was there to marvel at, after the appearance of two mythical species?

“What surprises will the Church bring us?” Lucius’s gaze was intent as he surveyed the battlefield ahead. “The place is well chosen—spacious indeed.”

“No matter what tricks the Church uses, the races of darkness can withstand them. We’ve hidden in the shadows long enough.” The speaker was a burly half-orc, his massive bovine head paired with a broad, rugged battle-axe in hand. Yet he was not the most conspicuous figure present—for beside him lounged an even larger creature, lazily sprawled on the ground. It yawned, sending up clouds of dust: the Infernal Dragon.

Lucius said nothing, only smiled faintly. He was growing ever more like a leader. People mature with power, and heart must match strength. Lucius’s growth was no ill omen for the Council, nor for Cold Ember.

At that moment, Cold Ember hovered thousands of meters above, observing everything below.

In the distance, a black mass appeared—an army of men. “The Church has gone to great lengths this time,” Cold Ember chuckled.

The Church’s forces advanced from afar, moving steadily toward Lucius and his group. They were arrayed by troop type, forming several camps, lined up in order. At the very front marched the silver-armored warriors, each holding a silver shield in one hand and a silver lance in the other. There were over two thousand of them, forming three formidable lines—a human wall, imposing indeed, though their true strength was yet to be seen.

Behind them, in stark contrast, was a sea of gold—the Holy Knights. Mounted upon fully armored warhorses, their lances held upright, they numbered just over a thousand. Following the cavalry were more Holy Knights, though these were on foot, wielding golden swords, also numbering about a thousand.

Behind the silver-armored warriors and Holy Knights was the Church’s main strength. Their numbers were vast. The Holy Knights were, after all, primarily guardians of the Vatican, not numerous. The silver-armored warriors were generally not strong in battle, little more than aides to the higher-ranking members.

Then came the robed devotees—over ten thousand of them, a sea of figures dressed in pure white. Their status was high; each could wield the power of light. With their numbers, every collective step sent tremors through the ground—a spectacle surpassing any military parade.

Behind the robed devotees was a group clad in rough clothing, difficult to describe. Their attire was unique to each, almost no two alike, mostly unkempt, giving the impression of... beggars, yes, beggars! Though cleaner than beggars, they wore coarse linen, like that of the mid-sixteenth century.

There were only about six hundred of them, an unusual presence in the Church, all over sixty years old. Even the Pope treated them with great respect. The reason was simple—the Church could not do without them. If the Church’s overall strength were one hundred, five would be the millions of devotees, five the silver-armored warriors, ten the Holy Knights, fifteen the high-ranking robed devotees, leaving sixty-five—of which thirty-five belonged to these six hundred elders. They had a special name: Ascetics, also called Hermits.

Divide each branch’s strength by their numbers, and one could see the weight each Ascetic carried within the Church. Some might ask, what about the remaining thirty? They belonged to the White and Red Bishops, and, of course, the Pope himself, who stood at the forefront of the Church’s army.

At this moment, the Church had deployed all its forces. “This will be quite a show,” Cold Ember laughed merrily from on high.

On the ground, Lucius frowned—indeed, the Church’s strength was formidable, worthy of a hegemon. If these nearly twenty thousand troops were deployed in wars across nations, even with modern technology, few countries could withstand them.

In numbers, the Council’s side was not inferior. Though Lucius brought only high-ranking dark creatures, they numbered thirty thousand.

“Creatures of darkness, you should not challenge the authority of God.” The two sides were separated by a thousand meters, and Pope Joseph Peter XVI spoke first.

“To hell with your damned God, we don’t worship that blasted bird-man.” The blunt half-orc couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, speaking out and immediately regretting it. He glanced fearfully at Lucius, as speaking out of turn was never safe, but Lucius showed no displeasure, so he relaxed.

“How dare you!” The Church’s army shouted in unison, tens of thousands roaring with hysterical fury, their voices thundering. Even Cold Ember, high above, reached up to cover his ears. “Such loyalty—brutes, brutes!”

The Council was unmoved. The Infernal Dragon snorted fiercely, stirring waves of dust, then growled angrily, “The Church is so long-winded. If you want to fight, fight! There’s no need for all this nonsense—I don’t care for your reasons.”

Dozens of Hellhounds howled in unison, their cries echoing through the valley, as members of the Council added their own indignant voices.

“Very well, as you wish.” Pope Joseph Peter XVI, though naturally calm, had a temper. His jaw tightened in anger.

When had the Council ever dared such provocation? Never before, and in the future, they would cease to exist!

“All warriors of the Church, attend! The time has come to spread the glory of God. Fight for our Lord, destroy these creatures who have strayed from His will. The Lord shall bless us!” He raised his scepter, the symbol of papal authority, and the Church’s ranks glared at the Council, as if intent on tearing them limb from limb.

Steel clashed and bows were drawn—the Church’s army radiated boundless killing intent.

The Dark Council was undaunted, adopting battle stances as well.

Both sides’ attention focused entirely on each other. The great battle was about to begin...