Chapter 1422: Dead End

This is the evil accumulated over a thousand years and even more distant millennia, fermenting and writhing in the deep darkness, yearning to return in sleep. Now, with the extermination of the ‘path’, it can no longer maintain calm and has thus become restless under the heavy shackles of Holy Silver.

Thick black fog assaults from beneath the well, quickly spreading to the surroundings, engulfing the new Pope’s ankles. At this rate, it will soon completely swallow the Static Holy Temple, and continue to spread to the ground, across the entire Seven Hills.

“Enemies…”

The new Pope sighed softly, pulling out the Nail Sword embedded in the corpse, bringing up fresh blood and the molten metal of Holy Silver.

Looking ahead, one could see blazing white flames igniting in the pitch-black well, reflecting amidst the black fog, like a thundercloud on earth, brewing storms and thunder within.

Soon, the lightning was pierced through, revealing pairs of similarly blazing white eyes. They bore an expressionless look, but their mouths were slit open like monsters’ to the ears, with sharp fangs and claws, and blazing white flames burning fiercely in their wounds.

The new Pope was unsure of how many Soul-Reviving Corpses he had slaughtered; these fallen bodies were all covered by the pervasive black fog, as if they had never existed.

No matter how much he slashed, new Soul-Reviving Corpses kept crawling out from the depths of the well, as if this place was the Heroic Spirit Hall from Viking Mythology, where he must fight and hack until the eternal end.

These Soul-Reviving Corpses had been dead for too long, relying only on the Well of Ascension below to maintain the vitality of their grotesque flesh over centuries. Their movements were slow and cumbersome, their defenses weak, easily cut down.

Everything feels easy now, but the new Pope knows this ease is only temporary.

The Secret Blood dormant in the corpses is awakening from a long sleep, akin to the madness of The Inexpressible, its power gradually emerging over time, becoming ever stronger, until it returns to overthrow, even breaking through the forbidden threshold with the help of The Inexpressible.

Swinging the sword, the silver-white wolf is so conspicuous in the black fog, swiftly passing by the Soul-Reviving Corpses, the trajectory of the sword blade unseen, but with each close pass, the new Pope can unleash vast amounts of fresh blood.

Soul-Reviving Corpses fall one by one, but rise again one by one.

The new Pope sidesteps the claw attacks of the Soul-Reviving Corpses and counters, thrusting the Nail Sword into its eye socket, piercing through along with the skull.

Vigorously lifting, he smashes the entire head, the headless corpse staggered a few steps, then fell down, swallowed by the surging black fog.

The new Pope pants, muttering under his breath.

“How much longer can I hold on, Yanar?”

Everything now is so reminiscent of the Night of the Holy Arrival, involuntarily reminding him of Yanar, who also died here.

Relying on near-undying regenerative abilities, Yanar released his rationality, supported by Secret Blood, battling the detestable Demons in the Static Holy Temple for months, killing all Demons and defiantly surviving until the new Pope restarted the Static Holy Temple.

The new Pope still remembers that scene; Yanar’s desiccated, decayed flesh spread like branches, growing wildly, engulfing half the dome, with countless Broken Swords hanging on the stone-hard flesh, alongside long-since killed, weathered corpses.

The monster looked at him, giving him a big hug.

The new Pope had always had an illusion; he always felt that Yanar had recognized him then, knowing that he was not some mere new Pope, but a Demon Hunter usurping power with authority and sword.

Was that why he smiled then?

The new Pope didn’t understand; relying on hallucinatory authority, he had never revealed his true face to others, so how did Yanar recognize him?

As he thought about this, the decayed Broken Sword slashed through the air, the new Pope failed to defend timely, was hit by it, but the Broken Sword was too rusty, it should have been a weapon buried with the Soul-Reviving Corpses. It struck on the armor of Holy Silver, leaving only slight dents, then shattered completely.

The new Pope didn’t bother to look at it, simply following his instincts and swinging his sword, penetrated its heart in one strike.

For a moment, he realized even without his eyes, the new Pope could accurately sense their location.

This is… the call of the bloodline.

He could hear the agitation beneath the blood, as he traced the tracks of the Demons, perhaps that’s when Yanar recognized him.

This is his kin, his brethren.

Fratricidal.

Blazing flames emerged from the other side, instantly engulfing the new Pope, driving away the black fog, then the silver-white figure crashed through the flames, hitting hard against the nearby pillar.

The new Pope struggled to stand, steam rising from his body.

“Michael?”

The new Pope muttered, as time progressed, the Secret Blood within the Soul-Reviving Corpses is reviving, now some authority has been materialized.

He looked fiercely at these Soul-Reviving Corpses, but they continued advancing steadily, the new Pope sighed helplessly.

The hallucinatory authority has no effect on these Soul-Reviving Corpses, the consciousness hidden beneath their skulls long shattered, they’re merely walking corpses.

The new Pope chuckled bitterly; it was the first time he felt the uselessness of his authority, fortunately, it might as well be the last time.