After Phaethon left, the ruins of the "Cyrene and Phaethon Eatery" fell into a deathly silence, with only dust motes dancing in the slanted light beams piercing through the wreckage. Among the shattered walls and debris, a figure trembled violently.
It was the sole remaining black-armored soldier.
His helmet was long gone, revealing a face smeared with grime and contorted by sheer terror.
His fine armor was in tatters, several deep, bone-grating wounds oozing blood—these weren't inflicted by Phaethon, but were the result of him scrambling and stumbling over the ruins in a blind panic to escape after witnessing his comrades instantly turn to dust.
He cowered in a corner like a frightened animal, teeth chattering, every breath a death rattle.
*Crunch—*
A loose piece of rubble shifted underfoot.
Cyrene and Jacob, who had been preparing to sneak away, froze instantly, their bodies locking up! Their terrified gazes snapped towards the black-armored soldier, whose attention was now drawn to the sound.
Cyrene, Jacob: Σ(ﾟ∀ﾟﾉ)ﾉ!!!
The black-armored soldier also jolted as if struck by lightning. His bloodshot eyes met theirs, and a fear ten times greater than before erupted within him!
Black-Armored Soldier: Σ(ŎдŎ|||)ﾉﾉ!!! (The devil's accomplices?!)
Instinct for survival overwhelmed reason. The severely wounded soldier mustered his last dregs of strength, let out a hoarse roar, grabbed a broken half-spear nearby, and stumbled towards Cyrene, who appeared more "vulnerable"!
"Aaaaaah! Holy Light Art!" Cyrene's reaction was almost a reflex, zero-frame activation! Pure, radiant light instantly gathered in her palm!
A dazzling beam of holy light shot out. Simultaneously, Cyrene's gaze caught the half-buried, commonly used iron cooking spatula belonging to Phaethon lying in the rubble at her feet. An absurd yet perfectly fitting thought flashed through her mind—
(*Magic time is over. Now it's physics time!*)
In that split second, Cyrene dropped her wrist.
"Take this!" With a sharp cry, she swung her arm in a full arc, bringing the heavy spatula whistling through the air to smash squarely into the face of the soldier, blinded by the flash!
**DUang—!!!**
A tremendously dull thud, resonant with metallic vibration! The spatula connected perfectly with the soldier's face, twisted in panic and pain from the light.
Time seemed to freeze for a second.
The soldier's charging posture solidified, his eyes bulging, his nose bridge visibly collapsing.
He swayed, his gaze grew unfocused, and then, like a felled tree, he thudded straight backward onto the ground, completely motionless.
On his forehead, a clear, slightly concave circular imprint smoldered, wisping smoke...
Jacob: (⊙ˍ⊙) ... (Is this girl even wilder than Phaethon?)
Cyrene panted heavily, looking at the dented spatula in her hand, then at the unconscious soldier on the ground, her face pale. She muttered, "Phaethon... your spatula... isn't of great quality..."
...
Sanctuary Mountain, the nine hundred and ninety-nine blood-stained white marble steps.
Phaethon was climbing them, one step at a time.
His footsteps were heavy yet steady, each fall seeming to strike directly at the heart of the entire Sanctuary.
The ordinary longsword in his hand was now notched and cracked all over, the blade soaked with viscous blood—both the crimson blood of guards and a few strands that flowed like molten gold, glowing faintly as they trickled slowly along the fuller.
Another foolhardy guard, driven by fanatical belief, charged down from the side of the steps, roaring, halberd held high.
Phaethon didn't even glance sideways.
His wrist turned slightly, the damaged sword darting out like a viper's tongue.
*Thud!*
The blade tip sank precisely into the guard's throat, the bloodied point emerging a half-inch from the back of his neck.
The guard's roar cut off abruptly, the fanaticism in his eyes fading, replaced only by lifeless bewilderment.
Phaethon flicked his wrist, flinging the corpse aside. It tumbled down the steps, leaving a long, glaring blood trail behind him.
"De... devil! He's a true devil!" A priest hiding behind a pillar further up the steps witnessed the scene and completely broke down, shrieking miserably before scrambling and crawling back towards the inner hall in terror.
Phaethon ignored him completely, his steps never faltering.
Devil? Heh...
A cold thought crossed his mind. *If becoming a devil could save this world... my foolish, stubborn brother would probably be the first to leap headlong into the hellfire without a second thought.*
Finally.
The last step was under his foot.
The Sanctuary's breathtakingly grand, pure white doors stood directly before him.
However, on the broad platform before the massive doors, instead of a final, heavily guarded line of defense, stood a completely unexpected figure—
High Priest Vittorio.
This once-mighty figure who held sway over Janusopolis was now in a wretched state.
He was tightly bound with thick chains inscribed with sealing sigils to a pillar symbolizing judgment. His magnificent priestly robes were torn, his face bruised, his usually impeccably groomed silver hair stuck messily to his sweaty forehead.
Seeing Phaethon ascend the final steps, looking as if he had walked straight out of a sea of blood and corpses, his eyes, always full of calculation and authority, bulged wide, his mouth hanging open enough to fit an egg.
Vittorio: 0_O!!!
(Internal roaring: *Phaethon?! He... he actually fought his way up here?! And... like this...?!*)
"You! If I'd known you had the power to single-handedly fight through the entire Janusopolis!!" Vittorio's voice was shrill with agitation and fear, bordering on a sob, "Why did I bother ruining my reputation, playing the fool, acting insane to protect that little ancestor Cyrene?! I could've just clung to your thigh from the start!!"
(Vittorio: Save me, Phaethon! Save me now!)
Phaethon walked up to the pillar, his gaze sweeping over the sealing chains. Without a word, he casually swung his broken longsword.
*Shing—!*
A light sound, not of metal clashing, but more like the groan of some force being severed.
The chains, seemingly indestructible, snapped apart. The cut was smooth as a mirror, as if dissolved by an invisible power.
Freed from his bonds, Vittorio's legs gave way, and he nearly collapsed, hastily grabbing the pillar to steady himself. He gasped for breath, his eyes filled with the relief of a narrow escape and a deeper, more profound awe as he looked at Phaethon.
Phaethon looked at him and sighed helplessly. "Let's go, Master of Quick Changes. Your disciple Jacob is still waiting for you at the foot of the mountain."
With that, he walked straight past Vittorio, the damaged sword pointing obliquely at the ground. The mixed fluid of golden and red blood dripped from the tip onto the pristine white jade tiles with a soft *tap... tap...*.
Vittorio shuddered violently. Go down the mountain? Now? Was he joking? There were still plenty of guards inside the Sanctuary. Who knew what they might do now?
He'd better just follow Phaethon honestly for now. At least he wouldn't suddenly go crazy and chop *him* up. Uh... probably... not, right?
Despite his thoughts, Vittorio, listening to his instincts, quickly hurried a few steps to follow closely behind Phaethon.