Although there were not only solemn Executors at this position, but also hundreds of unconscious soldiers—the hopes and pillars of hundreds of families—none of that mattered.
For every Executor of the Holy Church possessed combat power far beyond that of ordinary humans. This allowed them to slip silently through layer upon layer of defenses, take a general's head amid a hail of bullets, and assassinate or threaten those lofty figures in power.
To those in power, these Executors, who could threaten their lives, were the true threat.
Therefore, as long as they could eliminate even a single Executor of the Holy Church, it would be well worth it even at the cost of tens of thousands of ordinary lives.
After all, dead soldiers were merely numbers—numbers that could be recruited anew from countless families, replenished, and forgotten at any time. They had their own names, their own faces, and their own stories, but in the ledgers of the upper ranks, they were nothing more than numbers.
But if those in power died, they would truly be dead.
In their eyes, their own lives had never been things that could be exchanged on equal terms for the lives of mortals.
And now, a rain of fire was about to descend.
Watching the missiles about to fall from the sky, the Executors all stopped. None fled, nor did they attempt to use holy scriptures to construct a defense, because they knew full well that an explosion of that magnitude could never be blocked by their vestments and baptismal chants alone.
"I never thought these heretics would completely disregard the lives of their own people." An older Executor let out a mocking yet sorrowful laugh.
"To sacrifice even their own compatriots without hesitation—they have utterly forsaken humanity. They are no different from those