Chapter 707: General to General

Beneath the curtain of night, in Hoskar City, Monica, kneeling in prayer before the statue of the Holy Lord within the Cathedral of the Church of Light, sensed an abnormal disturbance and slowly opened her eyes.

Candlelight flickered indoors, casting the Saintess’s proud curves, hidden beneath her saintly vestments, across the stone tiles. Cool air seeped in through the crack of the door, laced with a trace of chill from the northern frostlands. Now and then, the evening wind slapped against the cathedral’s stained-glass windows, producing a dull, heavy thud like some weight striking the wall.

The elemental particles in the air were restless, as if something were brewing. After a moment, Monica ceased her chanting. Her two white-silk legs, faintly indented by lace stockings, shifted from a folded kneeling posture to fully straightened. Only after blood flowed freely through her lower limbs did she step in silver, carved high heels toward the window.

Outside, a silver moon hangs high. No clouds, no stars, only the cold wind scraping past the eaves, and night itself, deep and saturated.

Monica stood by the window, waiting in silence. She raised a hand to touch the tasselled Saintess headdress, faintly sensing the holy relic of Light within it trembling.

At the same time, in the night sky more than a hundred kilometers from Hoskar City, a pink-haired knight gripped the Sword of Light and unfurled her wings, shooting toward the heavens like a bolt across the firmament.

Dry, frigid air rushed past Lyra’s nose and hair. Her mental scan swept the field, several powerful presences were also flying at high speed, their target pointed straight at Hoskar City ahead.

Astrid’s deduction was correct. The Pope of Light, Hebrew’s objective was nothing else: that city already under the expeditionary army’s de facto control, Hoskar City, and the holy relic of Light within it.

Although the Empire’s intelligence on the relic was extremely limited, Lyra understood one thing with absolute clarity: the more the enemy wanted something done, the more they must not be allowed to succeed.

No matter how Hebrew intended to use the, whether to cast, as last time, the independent barrier relic Holy Light Manifestation Torrent of Light or some other magic, preventing them from making contact was the best possible outcome.

Throughout the flight, Lyra had already briefed the Imperial mages on the strategic objective. The core of this battle was the same as described in the earlier conference: to eliminate as much of the enemy’s effective strength as possible, ensuring the subsequent operation could take the royal capital smoothly, avoiding a drawn-out tug-of-war.

For Hebrew to abandon solid walls and fully charged defensive arrays, choosing instead to fight field battle on a deserted frozen plain, this was, for the expeditionary force, an opportunity that came once in a thousand years. They had to seize it.

Perhaps noticing the shadows that had been tailing them from behind, the Kingdom’s Arcanist mages slowed, then finally halted in midair. Seeing this, Lyra held back and did not press forward. Her mental power output surged, constantly feeling the various elemental particles diffused through the air.

Ice elements were dense. Dark elements were active. Wind was everywhere. And faint light elements, cast down from the moon, formed the battlefield’s elemental bedrock.

High above, an elderly man in a plain white robe, his face solemn, turned his head. He looked toward a tiny presence far in the distance. Because the gap between them was great, that suit of silver-white armor had merged into the night, yet under moonlight it glittered with pinpricks of sheen, like fireflies on a summer night.

Benefiting from the arcane spell [Eagle’s Eye] and its amplification of a mage’s vision, even without relying on mental positioning, Hebrew could still capture Lyra’s location with perfect clarity, as well as several attendants around her, each exuding a magical aura.

After a brief standoff, a low and stern male voice came from afar, echoing across the sky.

"Lyra Beckett... is it?"

Hearing Hebrew called her by name, Lyra lifted her gaze, met the Pope of Light’s eyes in the distance, and replied with a voice devoid of emotion.

"So His Holiness hasn’t forgotten that clash in White Maple Town."

That day, she had nearly been buried beneath the peak tier-tier Arcanist spell Hebrew released, Heaven’s Tremor, Solar Judgment. Even now, the hazy sensation of having once brushed the edge of death still often lingered around Lyra, impossible to forget.

A cold, metallic clank reached her ears. The girl tightened her grip on her longsword, sharp eyes on Hebrew, pink lips parting.

"As the head of the Church, His Holiness is burdened with countless affairs. Yet tonight you suddenly travel out, bringing several elites with you, what is your intention?"

They both knew it was nothing but polite posting. They would still have to fight. Hebrew did not bother to hide it. He simply looked at Lyra beneath the moonlight, thought for a moment, then said in a deep voice:

"To reclaim the holy relic of Light stolen by the traitor Monica Angelis, and restore faith to the Church."

"And then, to execute the usurper who caused all this, the sinner who stole the Lord’s glory."

As he spoke, gentle light gradually spread across Hebrew’s lapels, making his figure stand out starkly against the heavy night sky.

Lyra’s expression tightened. She ignited the brightness at her sword tip at once. Obscure arcane spells completed their chanting on both sides of her formation, like several invisible hands suddenly clawing at the Kingdom mages in the sky.

In that instant, including Hebrew himself, the Arcanist mages all felt their mental power delivery stutter. Even their pull on the elemental particles slowed by half a beat. The only difference was that the Pope of Light could shake it off quickly, while the others, slightly weaker, seemed to sink into a mire. A fierce weakness wrapped around their minds, even interrupting parts of their casting.

A spell of this intensity could only be performed by that one person.

The strongest figure the Valeria Empire could openly claim, the academy headmaster, Anthony, whose strength had reached the peak of peak tier Arcanist mage.

In tonight’s battle, everyone else was fated to be no more than participants, at best, a few factors that might barely influence the overall situation. The one who would truly decide the battle’s direction was the duel between the two nations’ apex forces: Headmaster Anthony versus the Pope of Light Hebrew.

On the other side, after Anthony struck first, the beams behind Hebrew had already finished gathering. Brilliant radiance surged and swelled, falling from the sky toward the earth.

Facing bombardment from peak tier Arcanist magic, no one dared be careless. Lyra saw that most of the beams were blasting toward Anthony nearby, with only two or three aimed at her. She clenched her fingers around the hilt and lifted her wrist to block.

The sharp blade carved through the beams like a heated knife through butter. The moment they touched, the light carrying destructive energy was shattered by the holy sword, scattering into specks.

How could it be... so easy....

But as Lyra was still in shock, those scattered specks gathered again, forming a ring that coiled over the girl’s wrist, trying to become shackles that would bind her breach.

Realizing the light thrusts were likely only a feint, Lyra’s wings beat violently. She shot out of the impact zone, yet the other two beams, guided by the Pope of Light’s mental targeting, pursued close behind.

Seeing she couldn’t shake them, Lyra swung her sword to cleave. This time the smooth "knife through butter" sensation was gone, replaced by the feeling of chopping into a torrenting mass, scalding, wrapped in rolling heat, like a searing wind.

Even clad in the Holy Armor of Light, with its immense resistance to elemental particles, Lyra still feels as though her wrist had been plunged through boiling water. A savage pain raged across her skin, forcing her hand to loosen around the holy sword.

But the current Lyra would not hesitate for even an instant because of pain at this level. The pink-haired girl gritted down, gripped her light sword tightly, and cut through the blazing surge with force.

Then she used the overflowing light-element particles to reconstruct a defensive field. A cool sensation briefly isolated the burning flames, and the other incoming beam was assimilated by the lightfield, its destructive power shaved down to softness.

With a casual follow-through slash, within her vision countless light serpents surged toward Anthony. The Arcanist mage in a plain robe did not move. The scorching radiation, enough to melt steel, hammered his outer transparent wall, repeatedly stirring arcane factors into dispersal and flight.

Cracks began to spread. Anthony merely swept a glance over them; profound energy leaked from the fissures to mend and stitch, while the moderation instantly condensed into an arcane spear glowing violet, which shot straight at Hebrew in the distance.

Holy light tremored. The arcane spear, thrusting at extreme speed, pierced through layered halos of light. The spinning gale around it splashed ice and frost, even forming, briefly, a vacuum corridor meant only for arcane factors to pass through.

What seemed like a casual strike from Anthony, yet Hebrew, about to be hit, did not dare relax. He lifted his head, eyes burning with holy light locking onto the target, causing it to rapidly dissolve within his sight.

An early tier Arcanist light spell: [Lightburn Dragon Gaze].

Any existence would be dissolved and decomposed before this magic. Even arcane factors and elemental particles will revert to their original state before spell construction.

Lyra recognized the spell as well. Her heart hammered. A dangerously cold chill crawled up her spine.

The next second, Hebrew suddenly tilted his head and looked at her. The instant she noticed those luminous eyes, Lyra raised her weapon in front of her, and at that moment the Sword of Light transformed, its originally nimble, thin one-handed form becoming a heavy, broad two-handed greatsword that firmly sheltered its wielder.

Just as she and Astrid had formulated a battle plan prioritizing maximum enemy casualties, the Kingdom of Velys would similarly show no mercy to Imperial arms.

The best outcome was to kill Lyra here. If Hebrew could achieve that, the siege of Seville City would be half resolved, and they would also seize the absolute moral and legal high ground, Kales’s declaration of independence relying on Lyra, this so-called chosen of destiny.

Everyone said she was a transcendent being watched by the Lord, a savior who would save the world. If such a maiden of fate died in war, then it would not prove she was not true destiny at all, but a fake propped up by lies?

In that case, the newborn Church of Light would fracture before it could grow, and the Valeria Empire expeditionary army would fall into chaos with its commander dead. The threat to the Velys royal house will be dissolved at once.

Noticing that Lyra had been forced into passive defense, the other Kingdom Arcanist mages also poured their firepower onto this knight of holy light. In an instant, several spells targeted her.

The resulting might even change the color of heaven and earth, surging lightning suddenly erupted with ear-splitting blasts in the dry air, while the raging gale was like blades darting through a meat grinder, spiraling as it lunged toward Lyra.

Fortunately, battles between Arcanist mages allow little room for distraction, especially at the peak of peak tier legend. A difference of a hair could tip victory’s scales. Seizing the opening when Hebrew turned away, Anthony moved.

Pale violet magic engravings surfaced above the Pope’s head; the profound arcane aura even overwhelms the brilliance of sacred radiation. A ring below gradually took shape, corners and edges emerging from nothingness, turning this arm’s-length space into an independent prison belonging solely to the marked target.

A mid-tier Arcanist arcane spell: Corridor of Nothingness.

Once the cage is formed, the target will lose the ability to communicate with external elements, and their mental power output efficiency will be heavily suppressed.

Even one as strong as the Pope of Light, if constrained by this spell, would plunge from Arcanist strength down to archmage level. Compared to a restraint spell, it was more like a decision killing move that ignored the Pope’s surrounding light-element protection; on a battlefield of this level, if Hebrew’s chanting was obstructed, only death waited for him.

Facing magic released by an equal-tier powerhouse, Hebrew did not slacken in the slightest. The sacred light scattered across his lapels shook loose with his will, instantly igniting the illusory engravings around him.

Anthony’s strike had landed exactly at the moment Hebrew attacked Lyra. Although the gap was less than half a second, Corridor of Nothingness was already half formed. To shatter it was entirely unrealistic.

However, Hebrew had evaluated Anthony’s offensive methods before and knew that although this spell was powerful, it was not without weakness.

His palm, coated in radiant brilliance, gently touched the phantom cage. Blazing daylight, like fire, melted a hollow within the prison. Free elemental particles flowed through, connecting inside and out.

Before Corridor of Nothingness fully formed, it only took opening a single hollow for mental power to leak outward, allowing the original-tier magic to be released.

The only drawback is that doing so could not the spell’s physical confinement; he would need to chant another technique to remove it. But that was exactly the price Hebrew had to pay for his brief distraction.

Anthony watched the Pope of Light pierce through the prison wall. The arcane factors already arrayed on the outside surged in at once.