THE VILLAIN'S POV

Chapter 558: Paradise at the Edge of War (2)

The teleportation was swift ..only a matter of seconds before Frey and his companions erased the distance, reaching the other side of the world, where the Holy Island of Sicily lay.

The trio materialized on that thriving land, swords drawn, ready to fight at once—they had come prepared for dozens of possible scenarios.

Yet, against all expectations… the place where Frey and the others landed was completely empty.

They scanned the area around them, silence stretching between them for a time.

Lush, fertile grassland. Towering, flourishing trees.

A clean, refreshing aura.

The air was fresh, carrying a strange atmosphere for those who had spent the entire past month fighting in the dead lands of the Ultras.

Compared to that cursed wasteland they came from, the Holy Island felt like paradise—especially with that colossal waterfall cascading down from the heavens, feeding it endlessly.

Scanning his surroundings, Frey’s expression hardened.

“I don’t see Uriel anywhere.”

Unleashing his aura to its absolute limits, Frey formed an immense celestial dome around himself, stretching for miles.

Yet, his enhanced senses caught nothing.

“What the hell is going on here?”

They had arrived ready for battle, only to find nothing but emptiness.

“It’s as if the entire island has been abandoned,” Aegon muttered, glancing around.

“Relocating their base might be a smart move on their part, though I doubt that’s the case here.”

His gaze lingered on the grand waterfall in the distance, and the monumental remnants of a faith that had endured on this land for centuries.

Aegon shook his head.

“No… they’re here. I’m certain of it.” Frey’s voice was firm.

“The teleportation brought me to this exact spot. That means Uriel is here, but some kind of force is preventing me from reaching her directly.”

The logic was simple—whatever applied to Uriel applied to the Church’s forces as well.

“They’re hiding themselves somehow.”

“Then we move forward and uncover their purpose,” Snow said, drawing Vermithor’s blade, which shone even more brilliantly than before.

“I’ve been here several times in the past, but I’ve never liked this place. Always felt there was more here than meets the eye.”

With their auras cloaking their bodies, the three of them surged forward at high speed.

“If we’re certain they’re here, then this island must be hiding a secret,” Aegon remarked, surveying the terrain.

“And that secret is what we’re going to find,” Frey replied.

Step after step, they arrived at one of the Church’s main shrines—a sacred place where people had once come to pray.

There were many ancient marble structures, built with meticulous care. The place could almost be called heavenly.

Almost.

The moment they set foot inside, the three froze .. shocked by a sight that seized their attention entirely.

At the top of a marble staircase leading upward stood a platform overlooking the entire island. Crimson blood had trickled down its steps, clotted and rotting after days had passed, leaving it to dry slowly under the sun.

And at the source of that blood—

“Ha! Would you look at that?” Aegon’s laugh was sharp and mocking.

“In the end, the Church’s so-called pure and holy followers are no different from the Ultras’ lunatics.”

The prince seemed amused, but Frey and Snow’s faces remained grim.

At the peak of that high platform, nine towering spears stood upright like crosses.

Upon each one, an unfortunate girl was crucified, their bodies mutilated so that their blood had endlessly poured down.

Aegon recognized all but one.

“Eight of them are the Saintess candidates—the ones said to have a chance at ascending to the position.”

As a prince, he had met them before. The ninth girl, however, was a mystery.

Her cross was the largest of them all. Her skin was shriveled and withered, like that of an old woman who had long passed her prime.

Her hair was blonde, her lifeless eyes—wide open—were a deep crimson.

Different as she appeared, her features were still recognizable.

“Saintess Yurasha…” Snow’s voice slipped out unconsciously. He had spent more time with her than the others, and her presence had been carved into his memory.

And now here she was—crucified and dead, left to rot.

“What the hell happened here?! Why does she look like this?!” Snow roared, unleashing a wave of aura that shattered the crosses and sent the girls’ bodies tumbling down one by one.

Manipulating the winds, Snow caught them all before they hit the ground—yet it was pointless. Every one of them was already dead.

Especially Yurasha.

She had been a young woman, not even thirty.

“She’s not like Carmen, who hides her age. Yurasha was truly in the prime of her youth,” Frey said, examining her body.

A warrior of SS+ rank—her life force should have been virtually inexhaustible. She should have been able to live for a very long time before her body gave out.

Yet here she was ..dead, her body looking like that of an old woman at the end of her days.

“Looks like some cursed ritual was performed here,” Aegon said, unable to hide his twisted smile as his eyes scanned the surroundings.

Strange, blood-drawn symbols had been etched into various spots across the shrine.

It was as if a demonic summoning ritual had taken place here.

“So this is the so-called paradise on earth they talked about? How laughable,” Aegon sneered.

Snow’s anger only deepened.

Frey’s gaze swept the area again and again.. searching for someone. She wasn’t here, and that fact brought him a flicker of relief.

“This isn’t a joke, Aegon. We just confirmed the loss of another SS+ warrior,” Snow growled, unable to hide the heat in his voice.

He was right—warriors of SS+ rank were so few they could be counted on one hand.

“Well, there’s no guarantee she was on our side to begin with, so maybe it’s not a complete loss,” Aegon said with indifference. To him, Yurasha had always been an enemy—just another pawn of the Church.

Snow’s jaw tightened, ready to retort, but Frey cut in.

“No time to argue. Arm yourselves.” His tone was firm as he drew his blades.

“They’re here.”

The moment those ominous words left his lips, a crushing wave of aura descended upon them.

Above, the sky split open, revealing swarms of angels descending one after another until they surrounded the trio completely.

Their numbers were so great they looked like a plague of locusts blotting out the sky.

Leaving the Saintesses’ corpses behind, the three of them stepped forward.

“The battle starts now, Snow. If what you saw made you angry, this is your chance,” Frey said, a bloodthirsty smile curving his lips.

His body flared with radiant power.

“No mercy! Tear them all apart ..leave none alive!”

With a roar that shook the air, Frey launched himself into the heavens, Snow and Aegon right behind him.

The battle had begun.

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