As Iron Pot confronted Bishop Pagg, intimidating every member of the Death Cult present, something else was happening nearby.
The people from the Sanctuary of the Heart, who had suffered heavy losses under the encirclement, finally had a chance to catch their breath.
The middle-aged man leading them had lost his entire lower body, but such a fatal injury posed no real problem for him.
Their absolute idealism meant that as long as their inner convictions did not crumble, their physical forms would not be destroyed.
The force that had numbered two hundred only moments ago now had fewer than sixty survivors, all injured to varying degrees.
When their opponents stopped attacking, they froze for a moment before noticing the mysterious figure who had suddenly appeared in the distance.
"Who is that guy? Why is he helping us?" a wounded young doctor asked.
The middle-aged leader shook his head in silence. "I'm not sure what's going on either, but I can vaguely sense an extraordinarily terrifying aura coming from him."
A woman hurriedly asked, "Should we take this chance to run? If this drags on, we'll all die here!"
The middle-aged man gritted his teeth. "The great Sacred Will's skull is right here, and you're thinking about running away?"
Another young man said through his tears, "But we're no match for them! If we don't run, are we supposed to just wait here to die?"
Those words immediately silenced everyone.
Just then, their communicator rang, and a mature, composed woman's voice came through.
"Rohr, report your situation immediately."
"Hold on. We're on our way to rescue you."
The middle-aged captain named Rohr breathed a sigh of relief and answered loudly, "Director! We suffered heavy losses just now, but we're relatively safe for the moment."
Rohr quickly gave a brief account