Rotten Saint Son Montillo lay on the ground, staring at the vast sky.
His eyes widened.
Everything that had happened since the moment of his birth, every year and every day, flashed through his chaotic mind, gradually making his eyes sting.
Just now, he had charged at the two Mafia goons.
The next second, he was lying on the ground.
One huge slap had knocked him awake.
"Tsk."
Toliado shook his hand. As a mage who had slapped someone across the face, his hand hurt too.
"Which gang are you with? You're really brave."
Toliado was actually a little impressed by this guy.
In all his years as a bishop, this was the first time he had seen a Resurrection Cultist court death so enthusiastically.
Although the two of them were basically the worst and second-worst bishops in the world today, that still did not mean a Holy Son or Saintess could hit them at will.
"Do you know how much damage one huge slap can do to a person?"
Lanchi glanced at the Rotten Saint Son on the ground with sympathy and said to Toliado beside him.
"..."
When the Rotten Saint Son heard Lanchi's words, his eyes finally reddened, grievance filling his heart.
"You two, just who are you...?"
His vision had been swimming after the beating, but his nearly unconscious brain finally began to turn. He remembered the two kinds of Divine Era Radiance he had seen before being knocked down, and fear began to occupy his mind.
There was no doubt about it. Those were Primordial Slabs.
The Rotten Saint Son was far too familiar with that kind of radiance. His teacher, Cardinal Bishop Farmer, possessed the Primordial Slab - Corrosion.
The deep, black-glittering radiance that had briefly flashed through the snowstorm just now had to