As the golden statue solidified, William severed the internal magic array, binding Bena completely. Though fused with the gold, Bena was now incapable of movement, speech, or even mental perception—trapped like a living corpse, aware but powerless.
Mephisto had assumed William would help the stonewing beasts banish his son back to Hell. But did he really think William was that easy to read?
Now, thanks to the properties of gold and William's spatial magic, the statue could be hidden so thoroughly that Mephisto would never get the chance to devour Bena and absorb his power.
With a flick of his hand, William teleported the golden statue to Mars, instructing Sunday to seal it deep within the Valles Marineris canyon system.
Based on existing data, aside from the volcanic eruption William had triggered at Olympus Mons, Mars hadn't experienced significant tectonic activity in millions—possibly billions—of years.
By hiding Bena on Mars, unless William deliberately went looking for him, Bena would be forgotten by time, space, and the realms alike.
Realistically, within a few millennia—let alone eons—Bena, deprived of any nourishment, would likely wither into dust on his own.
With that satisfying thought, William smirked, then turned his attention to the kneeling ascetic monks still praying in the garden.
Sensing the faint traces of Holy Light in their bodies, William's curiosity was piqued. He drifted down.
As he descended, four stonewing beasts flanked him, transforming into knightly figures in red cloaks and full plate armor, forming a square formation around the monks.
But the five monks showed no resentment at being watched so closely. When William landed before them, they all stood and placed hands on their chests, bowing respectfully.
The eldest of them spoke. "Thank you, Your Grace Devonshire, for purging the demons from the Holy City. I am Strauss, Cardinal of the Church of Light."
"Your Grace?"
William raised an eyebrow. "You must be mistaken. When did I qualify for that kind of title?"
"There's no mistake," Strauss said calmly. "Any legendary-level Grand Magus of the Holy Light has the right to stand beside angels. Naturally, that makes you a Saint of the Church."
William chuckled. He didn't believe a word of it. This was clearly an attempt to rope him in.
With the angels absent, the Church needed a powerful human figure they could present as divine. A legendary human light mage could be marketed as a reincarnated angel just as easily.
One public display of high-level Holy Light magic, and their fading credibility would be instantly restored.
For most believers, seeing was believing. Show them the light, and they'd believe in the divine.
It was a solid plan—but if William went along with it, he wouldn't be William Devonshire.
"About seven years ago, I killed a few of your people," William said with a sly smile. "Knowing that, you still want to call me a saint?"
"Of course," Strauss replied without flinching. "It's not about whether we want to—it's that the Church needs you. Now more than ever."
William blinked. He hadn't expected the man to be so blunt, as if worried William would misunderstand their motives.
After a moment of thought, William sighed. "Aside from a mountain of trouble, I don't see any benefit in aligning with you."
That said, he knew better than to alienate these desperate men. If they saw hope only to be rejected, it might push them to desperate extremes.
So William casually raised a hand and cast Holy Light into each of the five monks.
To him, it was a trivial expenditure. But for them, it was like receiving a flood of divine grace. Their long-standing ailments vanished, their injuries healed, and their spiritual strength surged.
The oldest monk, Strauss, saw his wrinkled face smooth out before their very eyes.
Any resentment over William's initial rejection was instantly forgotten.
The five dropped to their knees and bowed deeply. "Praise to you, Your Grace Devonshire. From this moment forward, we ascetic monks shall answer your call."
William laughed. "No need to be so formal."
It seemed these monks weren't as rigid as he'd thought. The moment they tasted benefit, they understood exactly what role they needed to play.
Now William began to seriously consider the possibilities.
He wasn't about to teach the Church how to cultivate Holy Light—what if angels from the Tenth Realm returned? He'd just be arming their loyal foot soldiers and gifting away his advantage.
He wasn't that stupid.
But if he controlled the power personally—delivering Holy Light only through direct infusion—it was a different story.
This way, he could control not only their numbers, but also their ceiling. He'd become their sole source of power—their god in all but name.
Considering his ongoing conflict with Mephisto, it wasn't a bad idea to cultivate a few cannon fodder, shock troops, and fanatics.
These ascetics had spent their lives studying how to fight demons. Compared to Kamar-Taj's sorcerers, they were more fanatical, more focused, and more zealous.
To Kamar-Taj, William was merely a bonus.
To these monks?
He was a miracle. They might follow him into Hell without blinking.
But William shook his head. People like that were rare in modern Europe—probably rarer than pandas. He'd have to meet more of them first.
After all, not just anyone deserved to die for him.
If he wanted these monks to become a force capable of battling demons directly, he needed to shape their worldview.
And nothing solidifies hatred like a few bloody battles and shared casualties.
"What's your biggest problem when facing demons?"
Without hesitation, Strauss replied, "Since losing contact with Heaven, most of our sacred relics have stopped working. Without divine power to recharge them, one after another, they've failed.
It's a vicious cycle—nowadays, very few ascetics can cultivate Holy Light on their own. Worse, we can't even see through demonic disguises anymore.
That's why demons love hiding near Rome—they constantly tempt and corrupt even our most devout members."
"Seeing through disguises?" William chuckled. "That's easy."
With a wave of his hand, he pulled several gold coins from his storage space.
He summoned flame into his palm, melting the coins into liquid, and shaped them with his mind into ornate rings—each bearing the stag crest of House Devonshire.
The final step was etching a recognition array he'd copied from Angela's Archangel pendant into the rings.
This enchantment allowed the wearer to see through demonic illusions. For William, it was a minor item—barely worth mentioning.
But for these monks, who lacked even basic magical equipment, it was a treasure beyond price.
It was, without question, exactly what they needed.
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