Chapter 1423: Dead End_2

Blazing white flames ignited between the silver-white armor as the new Pope stretched out his hand to take a new weapon from the old weapon rack.

The Static Holy Temple is the base of the Demon Hunting Order. In the years before the Night of the Holy Arrival erupted, they trained in combat around the Well of Ascension. But after that night, all of it was abandoned, covered in thick dust.

Inserting sword after sword into the scabbard, the new Pope held a spear in one hand and an axe in the other.

The dark mist was split in two in front of him, sweeping past, while amidst the heavy darkness, jagged armor covered the Soul-Reviving Corpse.

“The most troublesome guys have arrived.”

The new Pope complained, knowing the armor was always strong. Let alone the body beneath it, already transformed into a spirit, knowing no pain or death.

He lowered the spear, hoisted the axe with the other hand, bending his body.

The peace probably lasted only seconds before being broken by a hoarse roar. The new Pope swung his spear, stepping forward, using all his strength to cast it out.

The spear spun and advanced, whipping up a fierce gale, and pinned into the chest armor of the Soul-Reviving Corpse. With such power, it directly broke the armor and hit the heart below, then pierced through. But this was not the end; the spear continued to push it, forcing it into the core of the black mist, falling back into the deep well below.

Immediately, the new Pope jumped vigorously, gripping the axe with both hands, swinging a semicircle, crashing down like thunder.

Armor shattered in an instant, the head was split open, the axe blade buried deep into the chest cavity and spine, a large amount of blood spilled, separating from the body. The blood still did not settle, sounding hoarsely like strong acid, constantly agitating.

The new Pope gripped the axe handle tightly, kicked its body hard, retrieving the axe.

Swirling the axe and striding forward, it was as if he was dancing; the black mist rolled up, dissipating into the air, and then the axe viciously struck flesh and metal, effortlessly crushing them.

“No need to be too tense.”

The new Pope muttered to himself.

He had already experienced one Night of the Holy Arrival. He was very familiar with all this, so familiar that it was like returning home, fighting alongside these familiar Demon Hunters in the familiar Static Holy Temple. So what pressure could there be?

He burst into hearty laughter; everywhere he went, flesh flew. Flames struck from the black mist, but this time he was prepared. The axe easily cleaved the fire stream, the heavy metal raised, fiercely smashing the Soul-Reviving Corpse, turning its torso into a stinking, rotten pulp.

Another sharp Nail Sword attacked, clashing with the axe handle, with such force that the new Pope was rarely shaken.

“Awakened, are you!”

He did not fear; instead, he loudly questioned.

Amidst the slaughter, he could clearly feel the gradual strengthening of the Soul-Reviving Corpses. Perhaps soon they would restore their full strength, and then it would not be something he alone could achieve.

But he wanted to try.

If Yanar could do it, why couldn’t he? Moreover, he was no longer just a Demon Hunter; he was the new Pope.

“Though it was usurped.”

The new Pope mocked himself inwardly.

The axe handle was broken, and the new Pope grabbed the incoming Nail Sword with one hand, tightly controlling it, even if it made blood seep from his fingertips.

“Continue!”

He shouted, grabbing the axe with the other hand, like swinging a stone, using heavy metal to smash the Soul-Reviving Corpse’s head until it shattered; the hand holding the sword no longer had strength.

But then more Nail Swords swung by, densely chopping against the silver-white armor, humming loudly. Even the sturdiest armor showed damage, with one sword mark after another lingering on the armor, where crimson seeped through.

The new Pope was besieged front and back, in a wretched state, helmet and crown scattered, gray-white hair falling, stained with blood.

Like a lone wolf at the end of its rope, his bones aged, his fangs no longer sharp. Yet he still felt youthful, capable of erupting endless fury from within.

A piercing ray suddenly appeared behind him, twin swords arcing like pure white butterfly wings unfolding from his back, skimming lightly across a sea of flowers.

Roaring, slashing, the new Pope’s moves were clumsy and fierce, like the last struggle of a dying man. But at this moment, there was no need to mind this.

This was almost beast-like combat, discarding all skills and flair. Everything was for efficient killing, completely rooting out all life.

An eye for an eye, blood for blood.

The Soul-Reviving Corpses surrounding the new Pope were like a storm woven by blades, with countless deep wounds blooming on their flesh, deep enough to see bone, some even directly breaking and shattering.

Countless shattered flesh sprayed high as the new Pope forged ahead. For a moment, he truly stifled the spread of the black mist with his own strength, pushing it back into the deep well below.

But more Forbidden Power exploded, twisted Soul-Reviving Corpses bloodthirstily approaching, and this time they bore faces familiar to the new Pope.

The faces of those he had buried.

After that Night of the Holy Arrival, most Demon carcasses and Demon Hunters’ bodies were reintroduced into the Well of Ascension, and now they returned with overwhelming hatred.

In an instant, the new Pope’s thoughts hesitated slightly; these were silhouettes that had once fought with him. But soon the acute pain of claws tearing flesh cleared his mind. He gritted his teeth, swinging his sword to behead them.

[How long can you hold on?]

Such a voice lingered in his mind, sneering.

This place was like an ancient arena, with the new Pope facing the world’s sins alone, while those exalted holy ones sat in the audience, watching the fierce slaughter, savoring the offering of blood and flesh.

“At least longer than you expect.”

The new Pope responded, tearing open the battered armor defending his arm. It used to provide protection, but now its twisted shape hindered the new Pope’s sword swings.

Shedding the Holy Silver’s protection, the new Pope could feel his strength releasing, the corruption continuing to spread, his heavy body momentarily becoming light.

How ironic a scene this was, the new Pope using darkness to fight darkness. Regardless of how lofty and sacred his purpose was, his final fate was still to return to darkness.

This was a destiny from the beginning, a dark destiny, an unalterable destiny.

[All your current efforts, everything you’ve done, is merely futile and delusional.]

The voice continued mocking the new Pope, attempting to shake his will.

In reality, to that voice, the new Pope was no different from anyone else, not deserving any special attention.

But much like God’s malice towards humans, it momentarily glanced at him, anticipating his fall and death.

The new Pope gasped, looking exhausted.

He firmly leaned on his sword, preventing himself from collapsing, while countless sword scars marked his body, some remnants of a Broken Sword still embedded within.

Like a beast pursued by a Hunter, he was scarred, his body covered in arrows.

His voice was weak but exceedingly tenacious. He forcefully unclasped and untied the armor’s fastenings, taking off his nearly shattered armor.

“It’s different…”

The new Pope murmured to himself.

“At least I’ve tried!”

His voice resounded loudly again, like a mountain collapsing with a thunderous roar.

Sharp fangs and claws tore through the black mist, ripping away most of his body, yet he still didn’t stop, raising the burning Nail Sword high, swinging towards the depths of the black mist.

In a daze, an ancient holy hymn seemed to echo, originating from the dawn of time, continuing until now. Amid the endless black mist, a dazzling light arose, illuminating everything, like a blazing sun rising from the abyss.