Lin Qi stood on the steps at the entrance to the Mage Tower, belly thrust out, looking down from on high at the Church party drawing ever closer.
Du Wen was clearly old. Back then, when he had led men in encircling and hunting down Lin Qi's group, he had been grievously wounded by the combined assault of Kelong Eighteen, Prince Korumba, Kui Lian, and the others. In the end, driven into a corner, he had used an ultimate divine spell, sacrificing most of the essence of his soul to call upon divine power to bolster himself, hoping to wipe out Lin Qi and the rest—yet he had still fled in utter defeat.
Damage to one's soul essence was an almost irreversible injury. Du Wen had originally been extremely powerful, but now he possessed only the strength of a mid-stage Saint! Moreover, Lin Qi could sense that his vitality, energy, and spirit were constantly leaking away. His life force weakened with every passing second. At most, he had another hundred years before his life naturally came to an end.
No wonder he had been stripped of his position in New Dunkirk and driven to Port Vias.
In this city steeped in the stench of copper, the Church's influence was negligible. The people here worshipped the Goddess of Wealth and several gods subordinate to her, such as the God of Commerce, the God of Contracts, and so on. The gods worshipped in the Church's many temples were not popular here; the Church's churches here might as well have been temples of the Goddess of Wealth.
In Port Vias, the status of a dignified Archbishop was not even equal to that of an ordinary merchant worth a million gold coins.
The moment he saw Du Wen's aged, decaying, deathly face, Lin Qi's