The clamor and regret in Longdu could not reach the far side of the ocean.
Deep within the Alps, on the Western Continent.
An unending black blizzard shrouded this place year-round, its bitter cold enough to freeze a polar bear into an ice sculpture within seconds.
Beneath a towering cliff carved entirely from black obsidian lay a hidden underground Divine Hall, so vast it was suffocating.
Not a single lamp burned inside the Divine Hall. Only ghostly green phosphorescent flames hovered in midair, giving off the pungent stench of sulfur.
A ceremonial corridor paved with the skulls of more than ten thousand powerful humans stretched across the floor.
At the farthest end of the great hall.
An emaciated figure sat upon a throne over a hundred yards tall, assembled entirely from the ghastly white bones of giant beasts.
Marcius, archbishop and supreme ruler of the Ancient Gods Church.
He wore the Ninefold Black Crown, the symbol of divine authority, and a deep purple robe woven from the resentment of countless people. His entire body was enveloped in shadows so dense they seemed impenetrable.
Ten figures stood in orderly rows along either side of the hall, each radiating an overwhelming aura.
They were the Church's ten remaining Divine Agents—its ten Apostles!
Every one of them exuded pressure at the peak of the National Authority Level. Unable to withstand those ten brutal forces, the surrounding space made faint tearing sounds.
On the cold obsidian floor in the center of the hall.
The crippled Yatelan lay trembling like a wretched, skinned loach.
He had lost an arm, Yue Xiaofei had completely shattered the bones on one side of his body, and his False God bloodline had dissipated entirely. Now, he did not even have the strength to stand.
"Y-your Grace..."
Yatelan pressed his