The Burning Legion advanced at an unimaginable speed, because the Church of Dawn offered no resistance at all.
Every army was retreating, until the Burning Legion reached the foot of Dawn Holy Mountain.
Here, countless Dawn Believers had gathered of their own accord, blocking the Burning Legion's path.
They could not even be called soldiers.
"This is land blessed by Dawn's glory. It should not be disturbed by war. Honorable Apostle, you should not unleash blazing fire upon Dawn's land."
An elderly man with snow-white hair knelt bitterly on the ground, his hands crossed over his chest. Before him stood the Burning Legion's soldiers, their eyes devoid of any human color, filled only with flames.
The old man was not finely dressed. The white hair atop his head was his only vivid feature. His face was gaunt, his exposed wrists bore the marks of labor, and the straw sandals beneath his feet had long since worn through.
His eyes shone with a light that did not match his age—the devout faith he held in Dawn. That faith had allowed him to live to this age, and it was also the direction he had pursued all his life.
"If the burning army seeks to set Dawn Holy Mountain aflame, then it must first step over our corpses."
The old man's voice trembled and was not loud, yet the Burning Legion halted because of it. Archbishop Cameron descended and stood before him, likewise saying nothing.
As an army bestowed by the Blazing Sun, they could keenly sense that what stood before them was not merely a frail old man, but the devout faith within the souls of these countless believers.
They could kill their flesh and blood, but the Burning Legion could not erase the faith in their souls that represented Dawn.