Agrippa didn't hesitate.
"Proceed immediately. Make it hurt. Their screams must reach Radiance's ears."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
The bishop's gaze softened slightly as he watched Julius hurry away. The boy had a promising future—already being groomed as the next Silent Bishop.
'A true heir of Radiance's blood. I'm pleased.'
Marcus, meanwhile, continued his relentless assault on the barrier—slashing with claws, breathing fire. Watching from the ship, Miaomiao yowled in frustration.
[You featherbrained lizard! That's not going to do a thing! Save your energy for when the barrier actually breaks!]
But Marcus wasn't listening. Rage had taken over.
They had once tricked him, nailed his wings, tried to offer him as a sacrifice—and he would never forget it.
Michael gently stopped Miaomiao from interfering.
"Leave him be. He needs this."
And truthfully, Michael didn't mind. The more energy the monks poured into defending themselves, the better. He needed their power drained before making his move.
Just then, the monks below began to move oddly. Marcus, noticing the change, momentarily paused his attack.
One by one, the robed figures stepped forward from the temple, murmuring prayers as they gathered before the altar.
The shoreline was filled with rows of kneeling captives—at least two thousand of them.
All bound, all terrified.
Some were crying. Others whispered to themselves, trying to stay sane. But their hopes would soon be dashed.
The head priest approached the first captive—a young boy, no older than thirteen, trembling on his knees.
A blindingly white scripture glowed in the priest's left hand. In his right, a ritual dagger shimmered with cold blue light, imbued with Radiance's power.
"Radiance, shield us!"
The head priest's voice echoed across the beach. The other monks followed with rising chants.
Marcus tilted his head, puzzled.
'What the hell are these lunatics doing now?'
His eyes caught something horrifying.
One of the priests dragged the boy forward roughly.
"Please! Please, spare me! My family will pay anything! My friends too! Just send word—please!"
The boy, Gilbert, screamed and thrashed, but it was no use.
Born a noble, gifted in magic, his life had been one of comfort. He'd been traveling with friends for his first trial as a mage when they'd been captured.
But the priest ignored every plea.
To him, a magic-wielding child was a heretic. Age didn't matter. All such filth deserved only one fate.
With an expression as emotionless as stone, the priest raised his dagger.
Gilbert's scream tore through the sky.
The blade descended.
His skin was peeled alive, inch by inch.
He convulsed and fell to the sand, still breathing, still aware—his agony feeding the unholy rites.
Blood soaked the beach. And the sacred glyphs carved into the sand glowed in response.
The priest's eyes lit up with ecstatic fervor.
"Yes! Radiance delights in his suffering!"
From above, Marcus watched the horror unfold. He turned to Michael in disbelief.
[Michael! They're flaying a kid alive down there. Are they planning to eat him or something? Why keep him alive while doing that? I eat meat—but I've never tortured prey like that.]
Michael's expression darkened.
He soared into the sky on Miaomiao's back.
It was all true.
Every time the dagger flashed, the boy's small body twitched in the sand.
Thankfully, the child was still alive.
Michael had been waiting—hoping to drain the island's power before attacking—but no longer.
'If I hesitate after witnessing this… how am I any different from Radiance?'
He pressed a hand against the barrier.
Power surged into him—so immense it made him stagger. Blood dripped from his lips.
'I knew it… still too much. I'm not ready.' Sёarᴄh the NôvelFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
But he wouldn't look away.
He pushed harder.
'Just… a little longer.'
Then—he felt it.
A presence behind him, more potent than the island's malignant energy.
A hand touched his back.
A calm, familiar voice spoke:
"Well done. We must help each other. Now let me lend my strength."
From below, Miaomiao's ears perked up.
[Alfred!]
Michael was drenched in sweat.
Before him, the massive barrier that surrounded the island still shimmered defiantly.
Even after Marcus's relentless attacks had weakened it, the barrier remained formidable.
Michael, having absorbed the power of multiple outer gods and grown immensely stronger, still found the force contained within the island difficult to take in all at once.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His hands trembled.
To save the boy being flayed alive on the beach—and the countless captives behind him—he had to break through.
"Is it still… too soon to stand against Radiance?"
His palm pressed against the surface again.
He couldn't stop here—not now.
Then, warmth spread across his back.
At first, he thought it was an illusion—wishful thinking, maybe.
But the thick, calloused hand bracing his shoulder was real.
"Don't give up, Michael."
The voice was low and deep, carried gently on the wind. Familiar.
Michael turned his head slowly.
Standing behind him, cloaked in black robes, was Alfred—his grandfather.
From beneath the hood, a smile played gently on the elder's lips.
Taller even than Michael, Alfred gazed down at his grandson with warmth and pride.
From Alfred's hand flowed a quiet radiance—filled with strength, filled with calm.
"Grandfather...?"
Michael's voice trembled. His vision blurred with unshed tears.
He couldn't speak for a long moment.
"How… how did you know to come?"
Alfred pulled back his hood and replied with serene clarity.
"Anything involving Radiance… I always know."
There was a gravity to his words, something deeper.
With a soft chuckle, he patted Michael's shoulder.
"Let's do it together."
Michael nodded without a word. At that moment, a gentle light surged from Alfred's palm and into Michael's body.
His strength returned. The pain and fatigue that had overwhelmed him just moments ago began to fade.
His hand pressed once again to the barrier, and now it began to absorb power once more.
Beside them, Miaomiao purred and rubbed her head affectionately against Alfred's waist.
Even though she was many times his size, the display of affection was no different from a house cat greeting its favorite human.
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