The church's maneuver surprised Lin Tuo somewhat, but it also spared him from hesitation.
All the squads were recalled at once, which greatly reduced his workload.
Still, considering that their retreat would take time—and that he himself was weary after hours of effort both in mind and body—Lin Tuo simply withdrew his avatars, choosing instead to quietly wait for the forces to gather so he could strike them all in one sweep.
When he pulled his consciousness back from the sand table, he realized with resignation that night had already fallen. Thankfully, Huaxi finally knew how to find food for herself this time, which left Lin Tuo, the teacher, rather relieved.
The night passed without incident, and morning soon arrived.
Through his avatars, he scouted within the sand table and confirmed that indeed, the church's squads were in the process of transferring. The knights had even procured carts and carriages to haul the captured sorcerers, pushing for the fastest possible return.
"At this pace, though, it won't be done today," Lin Tuo calculated silently. He dared not accelerate time but, after a moment's thought, decided not to stay idle either.
"Since the church's forces are on the move, I may as well seize the chance to plunder more books."
The books from Oakwood Town were far too few. Yesterday, he had raided another city and stored the loot on that deserted island within the sand table. Yet Lin Tuo still felt unsatisfied.
Whether they were valuable or not didn't matter—he would collect them all first.
Having made up his mind, he spent the day tirelessly dispatching avatars across the kingdom, visiting church after church, and indeed amassing a considerable number of books.
But his actions, as seen from the perspective of both church and kingdom, sent ripples everywhere.
The Kingdom of Drey, Sacred Plain.
In the Holy City of Hayeks, unrest had spread these past two days.
The Pope's decree, once issued, quickly became the talk of the realm. None understood its true intent—until reports trickled in about the deaths of church knights. Only then did people begin to suspect the reason.
Within every corner of the Holy City, priests and clerics discussed and speculated.
Rumors about Lin Tuo's identity ran wild.
Some claimed he was a sorcerer from the southern continent.
Others whispered that he was a hidden heretic, a servant of demons.
Yet most priests did not deem him a serious threat. A thousand years of history had ingrained into their hearts the unshakable supremacy of the Church.
Few considered this man dangerous. On the contrary, many commoners privately pitied this nameless strongman, believing his end inevitable.
"Your Eminence, the last squad has arrived outside the city."
Within a church built against the mountainside, Cardinal Xisai emerged from the cloisters and heard the report.
"Proceed as arranged," he instructed.
Once his subordinate departed, the red-robed cardinal, who had devoted his life to the Path of Pure Light, slowly climbed to a high platform.
As the greatest transcendent force on the continent, the Holy City had never been assaulted. Its walls were therefore largely symbolic—low and unimposing.
From this vantage, Cardinal Xisai could clearly see the plains: the rolling dust of columns returning, the knightly formations, and those captured sorcerers, chained and herded like cattle outside the walls.
His gaze lingered, his thoughts drifting.
Indeed, the returning squads were not permitted entry. Instead, all templar knights and divine spellcasters had assembled together, battle-ready, as though awaiting something.
The thousands of sorcerers were left between the outer wall and the church's forces, penned in like livestock.
No one knew why the Pope had issued such an order.
As one of the cardinals, Xisai had his guesses, but he could not confirm them.
His authority was confined to the inner workings of the Holy City. Though his rank was lofty in name, compared to his colleagues who governed great dioceses, he remained on the margins of true power.
Even so, he kept his suspicions to himself. For the past year, something about the Pope had inspired growing fear.
Every audience with him filled Xisai with dread.
Not only the Pope—other high-ranking figures in the Holy City had also grown brooding and grim.
Even Xisai himself, who had practiced Pure Light divine arts since youth, often found his emotions shifting uncontrollably. This constant unease gnawed at him.
He had tried probing the truth before. When the decree of Inquisitorial Trial of Heresy was proclaimed under divine mandate, he had openly opposed it at council.
But he remembered vividly how, the moment he voiced dissent, the Pope and every colleague in the chamber turned cold, laden gazes upon him.
As for the latter half of that meeting, his memory was inexplicably blank. When awareness returned, he found his signature already inscribed upon the decree.
Since then, his sphere of influence had been curtailed even further, reduced now to merely handling administrative affairs within the Holy City itself.
"Crack—"
Lost in thought, he flinched as lightning slashed across the darkened heavens, followed by the crack of thunder.
Xisai frowned.
Since dawn, banks of black clouds had gathered over the Sacred Plain, blotting out the sun, steeping city and fields alike in gloom, as though heralding a storm.
Thunder flickered again and again, shaking the soul with awe and dread.
The sensation left Xisai uneasy. His gaze strayed back to the ragged sorcerers penned outside the walls, numbering in the thousands. Their plight only deepened his disquiet.
"Crack!"
On the plains below, when thunder boomed overhead, a sorcerer named Gray instinctively halted his shackled steps. He tried to lift his head but failed.
Not only were the chains heavy—on his back lay a girl of barely ten years, fast asleep.
His daughter.
One of the earlier captives, Gray had dragged these irons for two months, following the Templar Knights through dozens of towns.
Once robust, his body was now gaunt, his eyes dulled. But what gnawed at him most was not his own decay—it was the frailty of the daughter he bore.
Despite his desperate care, the fragile weight on his back had grown ever lighter.
At last, though, they had reached their destination: the Holy City.
Herded among the other "heretics," Gray finally saw the looming, somber walls ahead.
But there was no sanctity there—only oppression and death.
"So it ends here," he thought, his cracked lips twisting into a bitter smile. He was surprised to realize he felt no fear of dying.
Turning, he saw the same expression mirrored on the chained sorcerers beside him.
To them, death was but release.
After so much torment, ordinary men would have perished long ago. But sorcerers, with their stronger vitality, endured—only to prolong their suffering.
"Stop! Wait here!"
Yet instead of driving them into the city, the cloaked knights gathered them in an open field.
It seemed Gray's group was the last, for already thousands of sorcerers were there, seated or collapsed on the cold earth like lambs awaiting slaughter.
"So this is part of the trial?" he wondered briefly. "Makes sense—heretics are not fit to enter their so-called Holy City."
Finding a flat patch of ground, Gray carefully laid his daughter down. The motion stirred her awake, and the little girl, fragile as a flower, whispered timidly:
"Resting now…?"
"Yes. You can rest now, Annie. Sleep," Gray forced a smile.
"Papa…" Annie murmured. Perhaps she sensed something. She lifted her head, looked around at the countless captives, then toward the distant legions of knights and the looming city. Anxiety flickered in her eyes.
"We don't… have to keep marching anymore, do we?" she asked softly.
Gray fell silent. He had no answer. A moment later, Annie leaned against his shoulder, speaking with eerie calm:
"That's good news, isn't it? We can stop walking… and go see Mama."
His throat tightened. Visions of his late wife rose unbidden. For an instant, grief choked him, but he forced it down and managed a true smile.
"Yes. Good news."
Somehow, the words lightened them both. Father and daughter began chatting idly, even laughing, as though pain and death had been forgotten.
Their ease spread among the prisoners. Some still wept, but many more embraced this strange calm, speaking of home, family, work, hobbies—everything but death.
The sky brooded, thunder flickering, but the sorcerers defied it with laughter.
"Look at them, standing there. What are those knights waiting for?"
"Who knows—probably lining up to lop off our heads, ha!"
"No, no—burning at the stake is the classic way to deal with heretics."
"Pfft. In this rain? Good luck getting a fire started, ha ha!"
Their voices mixed with the patter of spring rain, turning the storm into something almost bright.
"I think… there's another reason," one sorcerer nearby muttered. "I overheard talk—they're waiting for someone."
"The Pope?"
"No. If it were him, they'd be facing the city, not the south. Haven't you heard? A man slaughtered two knightly orders and freed hundreds of sorcerers days ago. They say… they're waiting for him."
The tale was recounted, leaving all in uneasy silence.
Gray, hearing it for the first time, murmured, "Then he must be a powerful sorcerer."
"Indeed. Who else would dare defy the Church? Perhaps they plan to use us as bait, to lure him here."
"That's… impossible…"
Despair clouded their faces. Hope had long since died in most of them. Here, on the Sacred Plain, with thousands of knights before them and the Holy City behind, guarded by countless champions and the Pope himself—the strongest man on the continent—only a fool would come.
"He won't come," Gray said flatly.
But beside him, Annie frowned, turning toward the horizon. Her gift was of sensing, not casting—and in that moment, she felt a great power rushing closer.
"He won't come."
Cardinal Xisai stood on the church steps near the gate of Hayeks, robes soaked through.
He neither shielded himself with divine arts nor sought shelter. He stared out at the rain-veiled plain, repeating his conviction.
He guessed the Pope's ploy was to lure the mysterious rescuer of "heretics."
But to Xisai, the plan was absurd. No sorcerer, however bold, would march straight into thousands of knights and the Holy City itself.
"Unless he's a madman," Xisai muttered. Yet, inexplicably, dread gnawed at him—a deadly danger was approaching.
At that moment, a giant eagle swooped across the Sacred Plain, shrieking as it flew.
It was a church-bred beast, used as a scout from the skies.
"Dong… dong…"
Urgent bells tolled across the city.
On the plain, the Grand Knight Commander drew his blade high—the signal to fight.
"Prepare to engage!"
"Crack!"
Another thunderclap split the sky. Xisai's hands trembled within his sleeves as his eyes widened, fixed on the horizon.
There, at the edge of the Sacred Plain, a figure appeared.
"He… came?!"
(End of Chapter 69)