Top and bottom short, left and right long…
The Great Prophet…
Red eyes brimming with mockery…
The familiar garb of a Northern Church saint…
Every detail replayed in Lucian's mind as though time had slowed to a crawl. He tightened his grip on the Shield of Truth and the Sword of Truth, and spoke in a low, furious voice: "Gono? The Lord of Hell?"
No wonder this mysterious sect hidden within the Northern Church could perform Divine Arts!
No wonder they had been able to deceive the clergy and amass so many followers!
No wonder the Lord of Hell understood the Church of Truth so deeply!
"Gono? Heh. He's been dead for centuries—why bother remembering his name? He's nothing more than a convenient vessel for stealing Divine Arts." The corners of his mouth curled upward, and the young man in white made no effort to hide his scorn. "Divinity—those who understand it the least are the ones who value it the most. The so-called Saint Ivan, Saint Alexey, every last one of them was a stupid fool who overlooked what truly matters. And that applies to you as well."
That last sentence, he delivered with pointed meaning.
Having confirmed the identity of the young man in white, Lucian felt his heart sink by degrees. Klaus's two surrogate-replacement alchemical items had already been expended in the two great battles that preceded this one. The chance of escaping from "Judgment's Light" was vanishingly small—especially since the one casting it was the avatar of a quasi-divine-level powerhouse!
No wonder neither of them had detected him in time!
Facing this existence once more, without the Silver Moon God's aid, how was he supposed to cope?
The brief transmission was not yet over when the Lord of Hell stepped forward. His right hand pointed. "Judgment's Light!"
You filthy, corrupted archmages—accept the judgment of the apocalypse!
His expression was solemn and majestic. Holy light coiled around him, and an immense pillar of radiance that carried the aura of judging all things descended from the heavens, striking straight toward Lucian.
In that instant, the very "epitome of evil" looked more like the God of Truth than anyone else!
The holy, majestic pillar of light slammed into the small, exquisitely crafted shield, spraying countless tiny motes of brilliance. The illusory ripples around Lucian lurched violently, and his feet sank deep into the black floor tiles.
The light faded. The Lord of Hell remarked with admiration, "As expected of the Shield of Truth."
Lucian allowed himself a small measure of relief. This projection or avatar of his opponent only possessed strength approaching the peak of the legendary rank. It still couldn't kill him in a single blow.
"Last time you teamed up with the Silver Moon and gave me quite the 'surprise.' I've been waiting for the chance to return the favor." The Lord of Hell spoke in an unhurried, leisurely tone, as though he were not facing a legendary archmage of immense wealth, but an utterly defenseless commoner.
Lucian said nothing. The Sword of Truth in his right hand slashed out abruptly, silver-gray sword light surging as it cleaved through the air toward the Lord of Hell.
If it came to it, he would rather self-destruct than end up like Klaus!
His only lapse had been that momentary distraction caused by the Soul Furnace. In his opponent's place, he would have reacted the same way—it was the most instinctive, most unguarded response of any Archanist confronting the mysteries of the soul and the ultimate truth of the world. An Archanist who could feel that kind of fervor was an Archanist of flesh and blood.
The silver-gray sword light sliced through the layers of illusory vortexes swirling around the Lord of Hell and struck his body.
*Pop*—the sound of a bubble bursting. The Gono avatar of the "Lord of Hell" shattered like a phantom, and a few steps to the side, he materialized once more, the surrounding space faintly contracting and warping.
Lucian's pupils contracted sharply. This was neither teleportation nor a Divine Art or spell—it was pure speed. In the instant the sword light had locked on and slashed out, his opponent had moved to the side at inconceivable velocity, leaving only an afterimage at the original position.
This was a speed that would absolutely trigger relativistic effects!
And the speed of the sword light existed only in the arm that wielded it—it was not true light!
"Is that all you've got, little boy? His Divine Arts and my quasi-divine techniques are in conflict—I can only blend them with my own power slightly, and you still can't hit me?" The Lord of Hell, Maldemous, said with an eternal, mocking smile. He raised his right hand. "Purifying Lance!"
A brilliant, frigid lance tip coalesced and shot toward Lucian at tremendous speed. The holy aura purified the dense death energy and the frozen black-and-white surroundings into something resembling an earthly paradise, while what sounded like sacred chanting seemed to ring through the air at the same time.
*Clang!*
The lance tip struck the Shield of Truth with a crisp, peculiar metallic clash. Lucian's left hand began to tremble openly, the illusory ripples decelerating in a bizarre manner, and the sensation of another spacetime grew ever fainter, as though two worlds were merging into one.
His attacks were far stronger than the Ancient Mummy King's. Perhaps the Shield of Truth could hold for a long while, but Lucian himself might not last even a minute!
His right hand swung the Sword of Truth once more, and the silver-gray sword light struck the seemingly defenseless Lord of Hell head-on.
*Pop*—once again, a phantom shattered. He had used his terrifying speed to dodge the blade within the span of a heartbeat, yet outwardly he appeared utterly relaxed, strolling toward Lucian as though taking a leisurely walk through a garden.
Sword light after sword light was unleashed, phantom after phantom shattered, yet the Lord of Hell's composure never wavered in the slightest. He answered with one legendary Divine Art after another, and the hand gripping the Shield of Truth had already gone numb—Lucian could tell he wouldn't hold out much longer.
Just then, a cataclysmic roar erupted from the palace behind him. Five legendary undead creatures were approaching the battlefield, trailing a tidal ocean of spirits behind them, and after them came wave upon wave of additional legendary death knights!
"Retreat behind me is cut off. The other direction means crossing past the Lord of Hell, making it far too easy for him to ambush me…" Lucian's mind raced through possibilities, analyzing his current situation.
"Such a pity—holding the Shield of Truth makes me too slow to move. Otherwise, with this paragon of a defensive shield alone, I could simply break straight through the undead tide."