"Hahaha! A Witch of the Death lineage? What a fateful showdown this is!"
Spur burst into wild laughter as he swung his staff once more.
The Pain Thorns descended from above, countless vines intertwining and weaving together to form a ferocious beast dozens of meters tall.
Atop the monster's head, a throne of thorns took shape.
Spur appeared before the throne, then turned and seated himself upon it, gazing down at Hel from on high.
"Now I wonder whether you even have the qualifications to step onto this stage. If you're just some trash who hasn't even reached the Saint tier, that would truly disappoint me."
As his words fell, an invisible wave spread out from beneath his feet, rapidly engulfing the entire underground space.
Hel's vision blurred.
When it cleared again, she found herself standing in a lush field of flowers.
Roses, tulips, hyacinths, pansies—flowers from every season and every region bloomed together in a place where they should never have coexisted.
Some stood tall, others drooped gently. Bees darted through the air, butterflies fluttered about, and a soft fragrance drifted on the breeze.
Suddenly, the ground trembled faintly.
Slender roots burst forth from the soil, surging toward Hel like a tidal wave.
But Hel merely waved her hand.
The countless vines were once again corroded by deathly energy and turned to ash.
"That's my line."
Hel looked up coldly at the towering Spur, casually drawing her spinal-bone staff and pointing it at him from afar.
"If this is all you've got, then I'll be taking your life."
As her words ended, a similar invisible wave of magic spread from beneath her feet.
Her immense power flooded outward, eroding and reshaping the surroundings into a world of her own.
The once-clear blue sky was stained by a sinister blood moon.
Crosses studded with bones silently rose from the earth, streams of crimson blood gushing onto the ground.
A colossal skeletal dragon began to struggle its way out of the earth—
Only to be forcibly suppressed by an even more terrifying surge of life energy.
He's stronger than me.
From the clash of their mental worlds, Hel had already sensed the gap in their power.
Even within the same Saint tier, strength varied.
The difference between an ordinary Saint and a Saint-tier Witch was like heaven and earth.
But when the opponent was someone who had transplanted a Great Saint's Remains, mastered a Witch's Authority, and reached the late Saint stage—
Crushing a newly advanced Saint-tier Witch was entirely reasonable.
Fortunately, life and death were opposing forces, and Hel's Authority was more than one tier higher than his.
That prevented the battle from becoming a one-sided massacre.
Still, if the stalemate continued, Hel would undoubtedly be the one to lose.
But that didn't matter.
Her goal was never to kill him.
She only needed to stall the greatest variable in her plan, preventing him from entering the sealing site.
Once Niv obtained the Flower Witch, Hel could simply retreat.
While Hel and Spur were locked in their confrontation in the Witch's underground palace…
Rowan III and the high-ranking bishop arrived at the location where the Holy Grail was stored.
Unlike the sealing site of the Chui-de Kingdom, the ancestor of the Gordon royal family had been a Saint-tier expert with a life attribute who specialized in plant magic.
As a result, this place resembled a lush primeval forest.
Fortunately, neither Rowan III nor the bishop was weak. They flew directly to the Grail's resting place.
The altar was not pyramid-shaped, but rather a massive withered tree.
At the crown of the tree was a spacious platform, upon which sat a crystal chalice woven from vines.
"Rowan, make it quick," the bishop urged, tightening his grip on his staff.
"Lord Spur is buying us time. Once you've collected the Witch's creations, we need to leave immediately and reseal the site, so no intruders can take advantage of the opening."
"I understand."
Rowan fell silent for a moment, then nodded.
Though he felt an inexplicable sense of unease, the bishop was right.
To avoid unexpected complications, he needed to finish his task quickly.
But just as he landed on the treetop platform and took out a new storage device—
A sharp gust of wind suddenly exploded behind him.
Already on guard, Rowan immediately leaned forward, preparing to roll away from the attack.
Yet an inexplicable thought surged through his mind:
Don't dodge. This is a baptism of faith—a test of loyalty from the Lord of Holy Light.
The thought lasted only an instant before Rowan forcibly suppressed it.
But that single moment was enough.
A radiant holy sword pierced through his back, pinning him to the tree crown.
Pure sacred power rapidly spread through his body.
As Rowan struggled wildly and screamed in agony, a wisp of purple-black mist was driven out of him.
"King of Gordon… so you truly were seduced by heretics?"
Only then did the high-ranking bishop slowly descend beside him.
His expression was complicated as he looked at Rowan, unable to believe that his longtime colleague had already become an accomplice to corruption.
With a wave of his hand, dozens of holy swords appeared, nailing Rowan's limbs firmly to the ground.
"Your case will be reported truthfully to the Tribunal.
They will deliver a just verdict.
If it is determined that you willingly sided with fallen transcendent beings, even your entire family will be implicated.
So you'd better cooperate and explain everything honestly."
As he spoke, the bishop flicked his hand.
A golden chain shot out from his sleeve, binding Rowan tightly.
At the exact moment the purple-black mist left Rowan's body—
Imshi, who had just descended the spiral staircase, frowned slightly.
She glanced toward the distant corridor, then turned around and headed back the way she had come.
So my control over Rowan III has been broken?
That means this identity is about to be exposed.
Before it becomes useless, it's time to make it serve its final purpose.