Sacred Light Mountain, once a holy land filled with sacred aura, had now also fallen into turmoil.
Ever since news of Port Saintes' fall arrived, the atmosphere within the Church had turned tense.
The enemy had reached their doorstep. This was the greatest crisis the Church had faced in three hundred years.
The last time things had been this tense was during the continent-wide anti-clerical movement three centuries ago, when nobles from every nation had jointly challenged the Church and forced it to relinquish its rule over secular affairs.
As Pope, Pius VII wore a grim expression. During his tenure, the Church had set countless records, though most of them were hardly positive.
Port Saintes, the Church's most important port, had fallen in a muddled single day—something miraculous even in the continent's military history.
Despite possessing a mighty city, its twenty thousand defenders had not mounted even a respectable resistance. They had not even activated the city's defensive Magic Array.
There were incompetent troops, and then there were troops incompetent enough to set a world record.
Worse still, after Port Saintes fell, the Franks had not halted their advance. Their army was now less than two hundred li from Sacred Light Mountain.
"Who was the commander at Port Saintes? Which senior officers were stationed there?"
Pius VII asked coldly.
The killing intent in his eyes had almost become tangible. Anyone could tell that the Pope wanted blood.
"Your Holiness, the enemy launched a nighttime surprise attack, and the defenders failed to react in time. All the senior commanders in the city, including Commander Palidan, were killed when Port Saintes fell!"
Cardinal Asprilla answered through gritted teeth.
Whether the officers defending the city had truly died or not, they had to appear on the casualty list.
With matters having reached this