https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-639-The-Collapse-of-the-Divine-Statue/13677483/
Chapter 640: The Inquisitors and the Tremor
Ingrid’s speech had been the final straw—like the last grain of sand breaking the camel’s back. Across Dragonhead City, the underground Rebellion forces erupted into a chorus of wails. The Imperial Propaganda Department had severely underestimated the influence of the Amanatara Church in the hearts of the people.
At first, citizens had met the Ashen Empire with hostility and resistance. But over time, their attitude had shifted—grudgingly, unwillingly—toward acceptance, even submission. It was far better than the chaos that had reigned when the Empire first arrived.
Now, however, those who had once looked to Ingrid, the High Bishop of Amanata, as their spiritual leader were thrown into disarray. Internal strife raged without pause. Even among the once-privileged clergy, many could no longer endure the constant fear and hiding. Some surrendered to the Empire outright, handing over their comrades’ intelligence as proof of loyalty—traitors wearing the robes of the faithful.
Meanwhile, Imperial Intelligence had circulated a wanted poster, triggering a bounty hunt. Thousands of players flooded into every city across Northern Aether, becoming nightmares to every rebel cell.
Deep beneath the city, in the Underground Chamber, silence hung thick as ice. The air itself seemed to freeze. After Ingrid’s speech, the situation had grown desperate.
The Dawnlight Holy Army was crumbling from within. Dozens had defected. In just days, half of the once-hundred-strong underground force—interwoven through Dragonhead’s subterranean veins—had either been captured or turned traitor.
Now, survival was a struggle. The dream of overthrowing the Empire’s leadership and restoring the Amanatara Church felt like a distant fantasy.
Aern rested his chin on his hand, his gaze hollow. “Everyone… what do you think we should do?”
“How could Ingrid submit to that evil dragon?!” someone shouted. “She must’ve been cursed!”
“All is lost. Fer’s been captured!”
“Just two days ago, Devontr even defected! Damn it—they’ve all been corrupted by that beast!”
Aern finally raised his voice, cutting through the chaos. “This place is no longer safe. If we stay, we’ll be hunted down one by one.”
“What then?” someone asked.
Aern exhaled slowly. “We… must leave this land. I’ve contacted the Lute Players’ Alliance. They’ve offered us sanctuary in the south.”
“Are we really going to abandon our homeland? Become cowards?” A voice lashed out, dripping with scorn.
Aern heard the venom, but didn’t flinch. He stared upward at the Sun Sacred Emblem carved into the ceiling, whispering, “Blind courage only breeds foolishness. We cannot afford to lose any more of our strength. As for toppling the Ashen Empire and restoring Collins City to Amanata’s glory… that must wait. I’ve heard of a certain ‘Wings of Dawn’—Titus. He’s said to be gathering resistance, forming a vast alliance. Perhaps… we can join him.”
Just then, Aern felt a tremor beneath his feet. Dust trickled from the ceiling. His eyes widened—something was wrong.
“What’s that?”
“Is the Empire attacking?!”
Panic surged. People screamed.
Aern yanked his Bishop’s Staff from his long robe, readying a Group Teleportation Spell. “Enemy ambush! Take cover—I’ll get you out of here!”
“FBI, open the door!”
“Open up! Water meter check!”
Above them, the voices boomed—arrogant, mocking. And then, the dreaded beep-beep-beep of a timer.
Boom!
A thunderous explosion ripped through the ceiling. Debris rained down. Dust choked the air. The sacred emblem cracked open like a shattered skull.
Through the breach, a dozen players burst through the wall with practiced precision, landing in the spacious underground dungeon with silent grace.
“Hands up! All of you—Justice Enforcement!”
“You’re under arrest!”
They drew sleek, futuristic rifles. Bullets flew—but so did nets. The weapons fired not just lead, but wide, shimmering traps that snared rebels in seconds.
“Capture alive—higher reward!”
“Net Gun! Net Gun!”
The Dawnlight Holy Army fought back with swords, rifles, bows, and divine spells. But against the players’ flawless coordination, their resistance was futile.
Then came the mechanical dogs—cold-eyed, snarling constructs that charged into the chamber, barking like rabid beasts. Their jaws crackled with electric current, capable of stunning a man with a single bite.
“For the Sun!”
A trio of Paladins roared, lifting their greatswords. Light blazed from their bodies, their armor glowing like molten gold.
But the players responded instantly—Remove Magic, Anti-Magic Rays—firing in rapid succession. The Paladins’ light flickered, then dimmed. Their armor dulled.
“Die!”
The bald-headed monk—his veins pulsing with Dragon blood—let out a feral cry and charged straight into their formation. His fists rained down like a storm, each blow driving Resonance Qi into their cores.
The moment the energy struck, their bodies exploded—armor shards, blood, and flesh torn apart. The monk was none other than the infamous Great威 Tianlong, now level 11. Even on the Feiansuo Continent, he was a Supernatural-level warrior—overkill for this ragtag resistance.
“Stellarfallen.”
Aern surveyed the carnage. His heart sank. Now, all he could do was cut his losses—save as many as possible.
But then, a second figure stepped through the breach—a half-dragon, clad in Imperial Ashen armor. His form stirred a distant memory in Aern’s mind.
The half-dragon pointed toward Aern from afar, whispering, “That’s the Dawnlight Holy Army’s chieftain. Aern. Master of teleportation. Don’t let him escape.”
“Run?”
“Heh heh… you think you can run? Get this old man cuffed!”
A player in a Mechanical Cult uniform—glasses glinting—threw two metal spheres. They shattered midair, unleashing dozens of iron chains that unfurled like serpents. Invisible waves pulsed through the air, anchoring space itself.
The chamber froze. Time and movement were locked. Aern’s Scepter dimmed. His divine spell was severed.
“You…”
Not just because his magic was blocked—but because he recognized the voice. Though roughened, the tone was unmistakable.
Aern spun, staring at the half-dragon with disbelief. His finger trembled as he pointed. “You… Fer?!
This can’t be! You were the most hostile toward the Empire—blood feud with them! How could you… become a Dragon’s follower?!”
The half-dragon nodded. “Long time no see, Bishop Aern. I’m sorry… but I must arrest you. Don’t make this harder.”
His voice was flat. Empty. Like a shell.
“Drama queen! Drama queen!”
“Watch the show!”
The players laughed, enjoying the spectacle.
Aern raised his Scepter, fury blazing. “That damned dragon turned you into this?! I’ll give you mercy!
Dragon’s Favored—Radiance of Amannata, Eternal Endurance! You will never capture a Sun God’s disciple!”
Light erupted from the Scepter—a blinding beam that tore through the air, aimed at the half-dragon.
“Boss is going all out! That’s Solar Flame Burst!”
“Shield up! Shield up!”
Lonely Like Snow stepped forward, raising his Silver Great Shield. The divine beam struck—clanged—and shattered against the metal, barely ruffling his armor. He even had the leisure to pull out a root cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. Paladin strength, in all its unassuming might.
“Hah!”
The bald-headed monk leapt—nearly five meters tall, monstrous in form—closing the distance in an instant.
Aern raised his Scepter. “Damned Dragon’s Favored—”
Too slow.
Boom!
Great威 Tianlong’s fist struck. Aern coughed up blood, flying backward. He slammed into the wall, crumpling to the ground.
David Tianlong looked down, scratching his bald head. “Oops… maybe I hit a bit too hard. Might not get him alive now.”
Aern lay motionless, Scepter gone. His bones shattered, organs ruptured. He struggled to lift his head, scanning the chamber.
No one had escaped. The Dawnlight Holy Army was wiped out—some dead on the spot, others captured.
Fer approached slowly, standing over him. “I’m sorry, Bishop Aern. I had no choice.”
Aern let out a bitter laugh, blood bubbling from his lips. He stared at the man he once knew—now twisted, monstrous.
“Do you feel no shame? What about Nico? What about all those warriors who died for their faith?!”
His voice rose, desperate. Blood poured from his mouth. Then, silence. He collapsed, unconscious—possibly dead.
“I didn’t do wrong… this… this was all for Ingrid. For her. To keep serving her…”
Fer stood frozen, whispering to himself.
---
South of the Radiant Mountain Range, in the golden palace of August, the capital of Dawn, King Wilhelm raged.
“Damn fools! Traitors!”
“This entire Northern Aether—one month—and Walter, that useless wretch, handed it all over!”
Wilhelm sat upon his golden throne, face twisted with fury. He smashed a crystal vase to shards with a single swipe.
His once-pure skin was now cracked and marred—so much so that he had to cover it with thick layers of gold powder.
The courtiers remained silent. No one dared speak. The air was thick with dread.
Broken feathers floated in the air. Shards of porcelain littered the floor.
Finally, a trembling voice broke the silence. “Your Majesty… please, don’t worry. That evil dragon won’t dare challenge us. You are the true Emperor of Fadalan!”
“Dare?” Wilhelm sneered. “He’s already at our doorstep. What’s there to fear? Do you think I’m blind?”
“No, Your Majesty, I—I didn’t mean—”
“He killed Heaven’s Sovereign!” Wilhelm roared, storming forward and kicking the man hard.
Though weakened, the divine bloodline still gave him superhuman strength. The minister flew into a marble column, armor torn, blood spraying.
The others bowed their heads. Not a word was spoken. The air reeked of blood and fear.
This was no longer uncommon. In recent months, Wilhelm had become increasingly volatile—far removed from the radiant, holy prince of old.
Seeing their submission only fueled his rage.
“Get out!” he bellowed. “All of you— leave!”
The court fled, relieved. The wounded minister was dragged away by guards. The bloodstain vanished instantly.
Alone in the empty palace, Wilhelm sat upon his throne, face shadowed. Before him, a vision flickered—Red Dragon and Barachiel locked in battle.
“Kai Xiusu…” he muttered. “I never thought that damned Red Dragon could grow so strong. Now…”
He looked at his cracked arms. “I may not be able to defeat it alone.”
After a long silence, he rose and walked deeper into the palace—into the most hidden chamber.
There, on the wall, a blood-red, terrifying formation pulsed.
He whispered, “If you help me defeat that Red Dragon… I’ll accept your terms. Even if they’re… greedy.”
A soft, haunting voice echoed from the Rune Array.
“Your Majesty Wilhelm… is it too late to regret now? That Red Dragon defeated Barachiel. Even I… I can’t guarantee victory in the Material Realm. And lately… I’ve discovered a certain… connection between him and Bair.”
Fire erupted from the runes—flames shaped into a face. A woman’s face, wild, cruel, laughing.
“You want to know how I can beat him? Or rather… what you still have left to offer?”
“Depends on what you’re willing to give, my beloved… His Majesty Wilhelm.”
Silence.
The flames danced.
Wilhelm’s cracked face flickered in the firelight—shadowed, torn, uncertain.
(End of Chapter)
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