"This isn't reasonable..."
Watching as, with the bare minimum of resources used for the summons, streak after streak of golden light flashed across the altar and fully armed, murderous elite divine envoys—whose gear alone made their formidable combat strength obvious—walked down one after another, veteran pretty-boy summoner Kabbalah felt that either his eyes or his brain had gone wrong.
Or perhaps both had gone wrong.
Using the intelligence that, according to the Sui classification method, was estimated at around fourteen or fifteen, Kabbalah pondered the matter and decided that it seemed, perhaps, probably, roughly speaking, both had gone wrong.
And so he was at peace with it.
"Hallucinations. They're all hallucinations. You can't fool me!"
Muttering this, he continued summoning without pause.
Compared with his other vacant-eyed colleagues, his reaction was undoubtedly the calmest and steadiest, so much so that more than one elite divine envoy gave him an approving look.
Uh, only an approving look, though. They were busy now and had no time to have a detailed talk with this fellow who was clearly a little dark-skinned yet was called a pretty boy.
Just as they had estimated while in the divine kingdom, the situation truly was urgent.
Four against six, with two of them injured—faced with such an unfavorable situation, even divine incarnations were powerless to turn the tide.
Oh, it was no longer four against six. It was two against five. The two injured Saints had already perished, and all they had gained in exchange was the berserker's life.
Of the Church of the God of Nobility's remaining five Legendary powerhouses, the old-middle-aged-young trio and the spatial mage were all in perfect condition, not even wounded. The tall, thin old ranger had suffered some injuries, but they were not serious and would not greatly affect his