The executioner's greatsword swept across the sky, slicing a roaring fire meteor into two halves. The split fragments tumbled off their original trajectory and crashed beyond the Glory Fortress.
Amidst the fiery inferno of descending meteors, the colossal white figure maneuvered with astonishing speed. The archangel weaved through the dozens of falling fire meteors, his executioner's greatsword forming streaks of brilliant white light, relentlessly shattering and deflecting the incoming forbidden fireballs. Most of the meteors were intercepted midair, sliced apart or knocked askew, crashing into the plains outside the castle and leaving behind massive craters.
However, this was still a rain of dozens of meteors—some managed to slip past the archangel's defense and struck the Glory Fortress. Fiery explosions erupted, sending shards flying and igniting patches of raging infernos. Yet, compared to the catastrophe that could have obliterated the entire castle, this was within an acceptable range of damage. Dozens of fire meteors could have razed the castle to the ground, but only a few making impact meant only partial destruction.
Beneath the grand hall of light, a dozen holy warriors stood guard, protecting the Pope above. But no one noticed the trickle of blood seeping from the corner of the Pope's lips.
Against the apocalyptic devastation of this forbidden calamity, the archangel had forcibly carved out a safe passage with his executioner's greatsword, shielding the tens of thousands below and securing a path for survival for the Glory Fortress. His form, wreathed in sacred white light, his imposing presence, and his massive wings of pure radiance—whether in sheer power or divine majesty—made him appear as the true savior of this world.
Yet, the people below no longer had the luxury to witness this awe-inspiring battle in the sky. A conflict even greater and bloodier than before was beginning to unfold within the Glory Fortress.
When the archangel appeared to intercept the falling meteor shower, Grutt was momentarily stunned but did not seem too surprised. Without hesitation, he reached for his waist and retrieved a fist-sized blue gemstone. This time, instead of throwing it into the air, he casually tossed it onto the ground.
The blue gemstone was engraved with countless intricate and minuscule magical runes. With a crisp ping, it shattered along the carved magic formation, and from the fragments, an intense blue radiance burst forth.
"Star Eye?!" Lancelote exclaimed in shock. He recognized the gemstone instantly—the radiant blue light was a signature of space magic. However, this glow was far larger, brighter, and purer than that of a mere teleportation scroll, casting an ethereal blue hue over the entire Glory Fortress.
Following the intricate patterns of the magical runes, the Star Eye slowly crumbled into fine powder. As it disintegrated, the mystical teleportation light it released began to converge, gradually forming a massive blue mirror-like surface.
The mirror expanded into a circular plane, nearly a hundred meters in diameter, standing in the center of the plaza like a bizarre, towering structure.
"Destroy that thing! Now!" Lancelote's voice rang out in a near-hysterical shout as he unsheathed his longsword and charged forward with all his might. He didn't need to look twice—he already knew exactly what this was.
Only three arriving temple knights managed to react in time. Of them, Welleskay was the furthest away but the fastest to act. Coming to an abrupt stop mid-sprint, he drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and loosed a Steel-Piercing Anti-Magic Arrow nearly a meter long, its whistling flight aimed straight at the Star Eye below.
But Grutt stood right beside it. No matter how swift or lethal Welleskay's arrow was, to Grutt, it was no more dangerous than a mere thrown twig. With a simple motion, he reached out and caught the anti-magic arrow midair.
At the same time, Lancelote, shrouded in a whirlwind of sword light, shot forward like a storm of blades, his entire body becoming a bladed tempest aimed straight at Grutt.
The paladin's attack no longer carried any semblance of measured composure. With the Holy Light Cross Sword temporarily beyond his ability to wield, Lancelote swung his longsword with reckless abandon, launching a ferocious onslaught at Grutt as if his very life depended on it. Gone was his usual steady and formidable style—replaced by a storm of aggression, relentless and wild. He didn't just slash, stab, and chop with his sword—he threw his entire body into the assault, crashing forward with brute force.
Grutt let out a cold snort, received the sword strike, and retreated. Facing Lancelote's relentless assault, no one could stand their ground without backing off. Moreover, the previous direct clash had not left him unscathed. His figure was swept back by the sword storm that Lancelot unleashed, retreating more than ten meters before finally stabilizing himself, then he struck out with a punch.
With a resounding boom, this time it was Lancelote who was sent flying. He wasn't just forced back—he was knocked back. The glory armor on his shoulder had completely caved in. Lancelote's storm-like offensive had finally weakened, his momentum exhausted. Though he had managed to temporarily push Grutt away, he had also exposed himself. If this had been a duel between the two, this single punch would have already decided the victor.
However, for Lancelote, that fleeting instant was all he needed.
This was never a duel between him and Grutt, nor did he seek personal victory. His goal was singular—to force Grutt back for just a moment. A single moment was enough.
And in that moment, the other two temple knights had already reached the Star Eye, one wielding a spear, the other a sword. The killing intent radiating from their weapons was as if this gemstone bore an unforgivable, blood-deep vengeance against them. Every move—Welleskay's arrow, Lancelote's relentless assault—was orchestrated to create this opportunity for them.
Yet, it was still too late.
Just as their weapons were about to strike the Star Eye, a massive clawed hand emerged from the blue-glowing mirror, reaching for the two temple knights.
Both knights instinctively halted and dodged aside.
The claw was huge, nearly the size of a full-grown man, with razor-sharp talons extending half a meter long. Outside of a Behemoth, no creature on the continent possessed such an overwhelmingly fearsome appendage. A single swipe from this monstrous beast—regardless of the glory armor they wore—would not be something they could easily endure. Even the sheer force behind a Behemoth's strike alone was enough to send them, armor and all, hurtling away like ragdolls.
Yet, even as they evaded, the two temple knights refused to abandon their assault. Their spear and sword traced low arcs across the ground, thrusting forward once more—still aiming directly at the Star Eye.
Almost simultaneously with the Behemoth's giant claws, a tall figure leaped out from the blue light screen. It was a werewolf, wielding a massive, peculiar cleaver. With two dull thuds, the werewolf staggered, but the weapons thrown by the two temple knights were also knocked away. Before the two temple knights could react, the stumbling werewolf swung its claws, and four fireballs shot toward them. The werewolf wore four magic rings made of enchanted jade on its hand—a high-level magical item similar to a wand, capable of instantly casting spells.
The temple knights did not dodge or retreat. They simply raised their arms to shield their faces, allowing the four spells to explode on their bodies. Such low-level magic was insignificant against the magic resistance of their Radiant Armor, but the shockwaves from the fireballs still forced the two knights to take a step back.
When the two temple knights lowered their arms from their faces, they realized they no longer had a chance. The Star's Eye was no longer visible, blocked by the two massive Behemoths and several werewolves. Moreover, more orcs were emerging from the mirror-like surface formed by the converging blue light.
Several sharp shrieks pierced the air as a few wyverns emerged from above the massive mirror-like surface. Orcs continued to pour out from the mirror, which, when viewed from the side, appeared to have no thickness at all. In just a short time, a large group of orcs had already emerged, each fully armed, with ferocious and menacing expressions. They howled and charged toward the stunned swordsmen and priests, who stood frozen in disbelief.
"An dimensional gate? The orcs of Orford even possess something like this? That's an ancient elven magic even we've only heard of in Archmage Akibard's notes," Stephen muttered in astonishment as he gazed at the enormous blue light screen from a distance. He then glanced at Inham, who showed no sign of surprise, and said in a slightly curious tone, "Should I say this is something you expected, or something you arranged?"
Inham smiled humbly and replied, "It's just a matter of letting things take their natural course, Teacher Stephen. There's no need for you to concern yourself with it."
"Oh? And what about the timing you mentioned earlier?"
"It should be almost time. You can prepare to make your move now," Inham said, raising his head to look up at the sky.
High above, the thick fire clouds had finally exhausted their meteor shower and were beginning to dissipate. The forbidden spell, Meteor Fire Rain, had come to an end. Despite the archangel's desperate efforts to save the castle, several parts of Glory Fortress had been reduced to burning ruins. The colossal figure of the angel was also growing faint, but it still glanced down at the chaotic square below. The hundred-meter-tall blue light screen resembled a gateway to hell, from which orcs continued to emerge—Behemoths, wyverns, and dozens of dire oxen, all ridden by half-orcs, surged out in a frenzied rush.
The angel dove downward, its massive executioner's sword swinging in a single, decisive strike aimed at the blue dimensional gate. This attack was entirely different from the assaults of the temple knights. Such a strike was something no person, no object, could possibly withstand.
The blue mirror-like surface split silently into two halves and then vanished from existence in an instant. What was severed was not just the dimensional gate but also the dozens of orcs standing in its path. Blood sprayed as they let out agonized screams, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Even the heavily armored ogres, who stood like iron fortresses before the human swordsmen, were no stronger than ants under the executioner's sword. With just one more horizontal sweep along the ground, at least half of the orc army that had teleported in would be cut in two.
However, the angel's figure suddenly flickered. Even the terrifying executioner's greatsword in its hand trembled and blurred, like a reflection on disturbed water. Then, with a loud, crisp shattering sound, the once majestic and awe-inspiring archangel, who had single-handedly resisted the Meteor Fire Rain and saved Glory Fortress, collapsed.
Atop the Hall of Light, the Pope could no longer hold on and fell. His collapse was not like that of an ordinary person; it was more like a withered, dried-up blade of grass, devoid of strength and vitality, crumpling to the ground.