After walking for a full half-hour, passing hundreds of colossal statues, the High Priest finally spoke, his voice a unique, resonant baritone, “Such great merit, and that young cub from Menopolie has converted it all into family contribution. A family ranked tenth has now leaped to the third highest position among the Electoral Houses of Roman, pressing closely upon the House of Holsom. Fascinating.”

The four priests bowed deeply, daring not to utter a sound.

“And yet, the young prodigies of the other nine Electoral Houses have all vanished. Only Porphyris of the Menopolie, returning with the mothership—he has true audacity.”

Just as the four priests straightened up, they heard the High Priest’s cold, emotionless words, and they hastily bowed deeply once more.

“How is His Majesty’s health these days?”

The unfortunate priests straightened again, but upon hearing the High Priest’s query, they bowed deeply once more. One priest stammered a reply, filled with apprehension, “The latest intelligence we received suggests His Majesty’s health has been well maintained. Especially over this past year; he has favored three to five concubines daily, and two have already conceived.”

The High Priest’s steps halted abruptly. He asked in a strange tone, “Conceived? How is that possible?”

After a moment of silence, the High Priest let out a few sinister, cryptic chuckles, tapping the floor sharply with his scepter. He murmured darkly, “Conceived. Conceived. Is this meant to compensate him for the loss of his two sons? Since he was the one who sent his own sons into a deadly trap, would he truly grieve over them?”

Beneath the cowl of his robe, two points of golden light flickered. The High Priest glanced at the massive statues nearby and said slowly, “Does he truly believe that by returning the statues of the gods to the Pantheon, he can appease me—”

With a few dry laughs, the High Priest suddenly quickened his pace, marching forward almost as if gliding. His speed was now several times faster than a man running at full sprint. He and the four priests behind him seemed to skim across the surface like flying fish, barely touching the ground as they shot forward. The gale created by the five of them swept through the empty hall, echoing dully among the statues, as if these colossal figures had awakened and were murmuring their discontent.

After rushing through the vast temple for another hour, the High Priest abruptly veered sideways, charging toward a black stone statue nearly three hundred meters tall. A beam of golden light shot from his scepter, striking the statue’s brow. Accompanied by a soft mechanical groan, the statue’s chest suddenly split open, revealing a portal over six meters high. The High Priest and his four attendants floated upward like willow catkins in the wind, filing neatly through the opening.

A faint black light flashed around the statue, and the doorway sealed itself again, leaving no seam on the stone surface.

Approximately two minutes later, a dozen Ling race assassins, clad in form-fitting black suits that made them seem as slick as eels, materialized silently from the air near the statue. They circled the area in surprise, like a pack of hounds that had suddenly lost the scent of their prey. The leading assassin made a subtle hand signal, and the group dispersed lightly. They began tapping and touching the surrounding statues, clearly aware that hidden passages existed here.

“Wretches who profane the divine, you shall all perish!”

With a deep, resonant shout, eight old men, dressed in high priestly robes, emerged from behind a nearby statue. Blinding, intense light erupted from their hands. The dozen Ling assassins cried out in alarm and scrambled to flee in all directions, but powerful pillars of white flame erupted from the ground beneath their feet, instantly incinerating them to ash.

The eight priests circled the adjacent statues a few times, and once they confirmed no outsiders remained, they silently melted back into the shadows beneath the statues’ bases.

Inside the colossal statue from moments before, the High Priest and his four attendants drifted rapidly down a passage sloping downward at a forty-five-degree angle. This corridor was exceptionally high and wide, constructed entirely of white slabs as smooth as jade. These slabs were covered in religious iconography, yet these images bore no resemblance to the deities of the Roman people; instead, they depicted scenes like the seven days of creation, Adam and Eve eating the forbidden apple, the Great Flood, and the Final Judgment.

The long passage extended downward, and even at the High Priest’s swift pace, it took nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the passage’s end.

The area ahead suddenly opened up into an abyss—a chasm nearly a hundred meters deep from bottom to top, about two kilometers across at its widest point, and no more than seven or eight kilometers long. The sun hung directly overhead, its bright rays illuminating the bizarre rift and, at its very center, a cathedral towering several hundred meters high.

A silver cross stood atop the cathedral’s tallest spire. Statues of angels holding longswords and trumpets were everywhere, while mischievous, naked cherubs danced around the archangels. The air carried a faint, sweet scent of ambergris. Before the cathedral doors stood a square censer crafted from pure silver. Inside this censer, several meters wide and long, expensive, natural dragon’s ambergris burned.

Dozens of young Roman men and women, all stunningly handsome and flawless, dressed in white robes, stood solemnly before the church entrance. They chanted passages from the Old Testament in unison.

The High Priest’s body shuddered. He stomped his foot hard and strode into the cathedral without sparing the Roman youths even a glance, his head down.

The main hall of the church was a vast chamber forged from pure silver. Hundreds of Roman youths sat upright on the neatly arranged wooden pews. Their appearance, skin tone, and demeanor were utterly flawless, as if they were exquisite works of art. They maintained an identical posture, staring with fervent intensity at a young Roman man standing on the pulpit ahead.

This young man wore a white robe and his hair had been bleached silver-white. Even his eyes seemed to have been altered to silver through some method. Most bizarrely, a white halo, over a foot in diameter, floated above his head, looking exactly like the celestial beings depicted in Earth Federation comics.

The youth raised his hands high and cried out fiercely, “The Great Lord has told me that the Apocalypse will come someday! The End, the End, the end of everything! Because the filth and defilement of this world have enraged the Great Lord. That is why there shall be the Judgment of the End. Filthy creatures, filthy beliefs, filthy pursuits—everything is filthy! Everything is corrupt! The Lord will send down the flames of the Apocalypse—”

“To slow the coming of the Apocalypse, we must eradicate all filth from this world.”

“We must purify our bodies, purify our minds, purify our souls, and purify the environment around us.”

“Earthlings are filthy; therefore, all Earthlings must be annihilated.”

“The Ling race is filthy; therefore, all of the Ling race must be annihilated.”

“The Phantom race is filthy; therefore, all of the Phantom race must be annihilated.”

“The vast majority of Romans are filthy; therefore, the vast majority of Romans must be destroyed.”

“However, even though the Romans themselves are tainted, they are cleaner compared to those base, primitive, coarse creatures.”

“Therefore, use the Romans to destroy those filthy creatures, and then launch a Great Purge among the Roman populace, first eliminating the vile, defiled half-breeds. Then eliminate those Romans who have been stained and polluted. Finally, eliminate every imperfect Roman. The ones who remain will be the clean, flawless Romans.”

“Only the purest lambs shall survive the Great Lord’s Final Judgment! And you are the chosen ones selected by me, the Apostle of the Great Lord, the Saint who serves the Lord!”

“You are not perfect, you are not clean, but you have hope of becoming clean!”

“Venerate the Great Lord and offer your souls to Him; venerate me and offer your lives and bodies to me! Then you shall find salvation!”

The youth roared with fanaticism, “Believe in me and gain eternal life; believe in me and survive the Apocalypse; believe in me, and you shall become gods in the New Era!”

With a cry, the youth ripped off his robe, knelt beneath the massive cross behind him, and shrieked, “My Lord, accept my devotion! I shall ceaselessly purify myself and ceaselessly purify all the chosen people. Finally, our pure bodies and souls shall stand before you to accept Your judgment!”

Four exceptionally muscular Roman men, carrying scourges forged from specialized alloys, ascended the pulpit. They made the sign of the cross over their devout chests, then swung their scourges—long, thick as a man’s wrist, and several meters in length—down onto the youth’s back with brutal force.

The heavy scourges whistled through the air, striking the youth’s flesh with dull thuds. Those present heard the sound of his bones cracking and watched as vast swathes of skin and flesh were torn away by the long, sharp thorns, leaving a bloody, mangled mess. The Roman youths seated on the pews simultaneously rose to their feet, singing hymns of praise to the Heavenly Lord, holding hands and swaying their bodies with manic fervor.

“Lord, save Your believers! Before the Apocalypse arrives, I will sweep away all impurity and darkness for You!”

The youth screamed sharply. His mental energy erupted from his head like a hurricane, coalescing into a silver cyclone that swept through the entire hall. The Roman youths closed their eyes, chanting the Holy Name of Heaven with fervent devotion. Massive streams of spiritual power shot from their brows, merging into the youth’s mental storm.

The four Roman men continued swinging the scourges silently, beating the youth’s body until it was a bloody pulp, exposing white bone and mottled internal organs in numerous places.

The youth shrieked until his voice failed, ceaselessly reciting the Holy Name of Heaven.

A miraculous, sacred hymn descended from the heavens. Six silver wings, condensed from pure mental force, suddenly burst forth from the youth’s back. A white light descended from high above, bathing him gently. The youth’s body trembled and convulsed. His nearly disintegrated form healed at a miraculous speed; in the blink of an eye, his body was restored to perfect condition. Not even the faintest scratch remained upon his flawless skin.

The youth, his face radiating sacred solemnity, slowly stood up. He turned and looked with imposing majesty toward the High Priest standing at the hall entrance.

After a long pause, the youth slowly nodded. “Honorable High Priest, worshiper of an evil god. Why have you come to this sacred place? Do you also wish to believe in the Heavenly Lord?”

The High Priest’s eyes rolled back in anger. He stood panting, staring at the youth for a good while before finally speaking slowly, “Saint among the Romans, the last commander of the Roman Knights, the Seraph K’tangel—do you still remember your family name?”

The completely naked youth delicately fluttered the wings on his back and floated slowly toward a breathtakingly beautiful Roman maiden. He hooked his arm around her soft waist, embracing her as he flew high into the air. Right before the High Priest and everyone else, K’tangel stripped the maiden of her clothes and, with utter composure, entered her body.

Watching the High Priest calmly, while thrusting his body rhythmically, K’tangel spoke softly, “My family name? Holsom? Ah, when I dedicated myself to the Great Heavenly Lord, that name…”

The Roman maiden let out a graceful moan. K’tangel thrust less than thirty times before emptying himself. After a low, lingering gasp, K’tangel set the maiden back in place and smiled gently at her. “You have undergone another holy purification. I, representing the Sacred Lord, have purified your body and soul. When the Apocalypse descends, you shall have eternal life.”

The maiden gazed at K’tangel with adoration. She clasped her hands over her chest and prayed devoutly, “My Great Master, I offer everything for you.”

K’tangel smiled and kissed the maiden’s pale gold lips, then slowly flew back toward the High Priest.

“I—I still remember that name, Holsom. Tell me, what has become of the House of Holsom?”

A fierce fire sparked in the High Priest’s eyes. He said in a low voice, “The first-in-line heir of the House of Holsom has vanished. Before his disappearance, his personal contribution points were sufficient for him to inherit the throne upon the current King’s natural demise.”

Nodding as if it were expected, K’tangel stated flatly, “Oh, that is my bloodline; naturally, he is outstanding. But why has he disappeared?”

The High Priest gave a cold laugh. “The Red Dragon King acted personally.”

K’tangel’s body stiffened instantly. He looked at the High Priest with surprise and asked, “The Red Dragon King? He acted in person?”

The High Priest nodded slowly. “He and His Majesty the King seem to have reached some kind of agreement.”

With a few dry chuckles, the High Priest said menacingly, “The former Captain of the Royal Guard and His Majesty the King were, naturally, the best partners.”

After a moment of silence, K’tangel slowly raised both arms. “Great Lord, for Your glory, the time for cleansing filth has arrived.”

A searing silver light enveloped the entire hall. Wooden chairs cracked and split apart. The entire congregation gathered their strength—