The chase in the sky had continued from daytime into dusk. The ice ship sped north, while The Church's people pursued relentlessly from behind. Several times, they used specially made magical artifacts to burst forth with astonishing speed and catch up to the ice ship. But Benjamin would immediately fling an elemental maelstrom back at them, holding them off once again. In the end, the situation reached a stalemate.
The Paladins below had long since been unable to keep up. After receiving Grant's orders, they had already dispersed. Most of the priests, too, had been forced to stop the pursuit due to dwindling spiritual power. The dark, locust-swarm-like mass had completely scattered. Only Grant, leading several bishops and a handful of priests, refused to give up. From afar, they looked like a flock of wild geese flying south—except they were headed north.
"Damn it... How can these bastards run for so long?"
The bishops stared at the ice ship ahead and could not help cursing.
They were already beginning to lose the will to continue.
After chasing them all this way and clashing with them several times at close quarters, they had gained a clearer understanding of Benjamin's magical strength. His control over the elements was in no way inferior to the Pope's, perhaps even stronger; his spiritual power might be greater as well; and he had an endless stream of bizarre methods... By now, their own spiritual power had been significantly drained, their numerical advantage had sharply diminished, and they no longer possessed their initial confidence in certain victory.
If this dragged on much longer, even if they caught up, they might not be able to defeat him. Thus, the urge to retreat began to sprout in many hearts.
"Keep chasing! They can't run for much longer." Grant seemed