Tens of thousands of arrows under his control surged up at once, like thorns bursting from the ground into the sky.

From the metal-sheened shafts to the cold-glinting heads, the whole swarm radiated razor‑sharp menace.

A faint burnt smell quietly spread through the air, born from fire elements scorching the atmosphere itself.

In the air, a streak of red seemed to flow like a stream; as more and more of that color appeared, the battlefield started to feel oddly like a fireworks festival.

Wang Xiaole’s right hand rose and fell, his five fingers flicking up and down, as if countless invisible threads linked his fingertips to the ends of every arrowhead.

His knuckles scraped together with a crisp click, like striking a spark; at that motion, the metal arrowheads suddenly burst into real flames.

Next, thousands upon thousands of flaming arrows were about to rain down together.

Scenes like this had, until today, only been possible with an entire army. Now, one man alone pulled it off.

A meteor shower of fire poured down, washing the battlefield in the most thorough clean‑up imaginable.

Each arrow, infused with mana and elements, gouged a shallow crater whenever it struck the ground.

Even against solid iron, even against tightly layered formations, they could tear everything apart in an instant.

When the falling flames finally dyed his entire field of view red, the church soldiers were no longer an endless sea at a glance.

Facing the one‑third that remained, Wang Xiaole dashed forward with his sword, his tense right arm raised high.

The upturned blade gleamed with a cold edge, a reverse‑spinning gale whipping around it, the coming strike carrying the force of a passing storm.

Before the blow even landed, pebbles on the ground began to tremble.

An instant later, armor shattered into countless fragments, mixed with splattering drops of red blood.

Those tiny flecks of wetness were quickly dried by the raging wind, tinting the air with a faint blood‑red.

Among the ten thousand soldiers left were the elite Crusaders.

This strongest strike force didn’t show a shred of fear. They kept carrying out the bishop’s orders, throwing everything they had into a death match with Wang Xiaole.

But a death match didn’t help. The dying part was guaranteed.

These fearless Crusaders could only use their own lives to slow the man before them a little. They couldn’t hurt him at all.

After smashing through to this point, Wang Xiaole finally reached the carriage and stood properly before Cai.

From the girl’s lack of movement, he understood what he was supposed to do.

He guessed Cai needed him to put on a quiet act—

a play that would keep her from being expelled from the Church, yet still let her stay by his side.

Once that clicked, Wang Xiaole lifted his sword and set it against Cai’s pale neck. His other hand pressed down on her sagging shoulder as he tilted his head toward the bishop and said:

“Your Holy Maiden? I’m keeping her as my camp hostage.

Sure, I don’t actually have a camp, and I’ve no idea what use she’ll be… but I’ll make this clear—she’s mine now.”

In this play, one chose to “take a hostage,” and the other chose to be “taken.”

Everything they did took the other’s feelings into account.

The only ones completely in the dark were the bishop and the remnants of his troops.

Naturally, the bishop still couldn’t figure out how the Church’s second‑strongest Holy Maiden could be taken hostage so easily.

But he knew nothing about matters of the heart, so he never considered the possibility that the Holy Maiden had teamed up with an outsider. He focused only on the situation in front of him.

While some soldiers were still stunned by Wang Xiaole’s outrageous declaration, the bishop suddenly struck.

With no warning at all, he went straight for the kill. Just from the speed of that move, it was obvious he was stronger than his predecessor.

In a single instant, the bishop was already in front of Wang Xiaole, unleashing a lethal blow.

Boom!

The bishop’s fist crashed forward, the force of his punch exploding into a roaring soundwave that swept in all directions.

It tore past spiraling air currents and slammed straight toward Wang Xiaole, its viciousness shocking to behold.

Unlike his predecessor, this bishop wasn’t brainless, relying only on numbers.

In fact, the moment he let Wang Xiaole deal with the Crusaders, he’d already started looking for an opening.

He’d just only now found one—and even then, it wasn’t going to help.

With a thunderous crack, two fists collided, like two towering waves colliding in midair.

Their powers tangled together, then exploded in an instant.

Thud, thud, thud!

After that one clash, the bishop staggered back more than ten steps before he could steady himself.

In a pure contest of flesh and bone, he had no advantage at all and was driven back by a single punch.

A flash of surprise flickered in his eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected to meet such a troublesome foe in a rural place like Dibiles.

Holding back was no longer an option.

In the next moment, his hands suddenly lifted, and a long black zither appeared in front of him.

Endless holy pressure poured from the instrument, enough to make anyone’s heart pound just looking at it.

The bishop’s fingers snapped across the strings, and countless weapons surged toward Wang Xiaole.

Those weapons, condensed entirely from soundwaves, came at him like a sky‑darkening tide.

While the surrounding soldiers were mesmerized by the treasure in the bishop’s hands, Wang Xiaole’s mind moved.

The entire space trembled violently, as if on the verge of collapse.

At once, the incoming wave of sonic weapons was utterly unraveled before that power, failing to harm him in the slightest.

That shock rippled through the bishop, and through everyone watching the battle.

There was nothing to be surprised about. In the end, a fight was just a clash of strength.

And a person’s level could, to some extent, tell you the result before the fight even ended.

The bishop was “City‑Toppling” tier, weaker than both the White Bear and the Fly King.

And the man he was facing now was stronger than either of them.

Even with the Church’s treasure—the zither—to boost him, the increase in power was ultimately limited.

Wang Xiaole was not someone who only took hits and never struck back.

After he broke the bishop’s offensive, a terrifying power surged from his body—

a fusion of holy power and magic, which he’d grown ever more skilled at wielding.

His figure blurred and vanished from where he stood, and he shot straight toward the bishop.

That pale hand of his swung down hard toward the treasure in the bishop’s grasp.

The bishop’s eyes flew wide.

He flung his hands open, and a sharp sword of sound blasted forward.

He didn’t dare give Wang Xiaole another chance to attack. If he did, his life would probably end today.

Bang!

The sonic sword he fired roared straight at Wang Xiaole.

But before it could get close, it was crushed to dust against that terrifying defense.

Then, wrapped by the two forces revolving around his body, the sonic sword was erased completely from reality.

This strike failed—and the bishop had never really expected it to succeed.

He was only buying time for himself to catch his breath, to set up his next attack.

Ting!

As a string thrummed, an invisible wave of sound surged out and shot straight into Wang Xiaole’s mind.

With a sharp swish, a vast illusion suddenly opened before his eyes.

The vision swallowed up heaven and earth, dragging his consciousness fully into it.

In a heartbeat, everyone and everything around him vanished.

In their place appeared a slaughterfield like nothing he’d seen before.

Endless mountains of corpses and seas of blood, screams shaking the air, rivers of crimson flowing backward—

for an instant it felt as if he had fallen straight into hell.

An unending chorus of howls rushed at him, and faces appeared one after another before his eyes—

the faces of enemies who had died at his hands, all madly clawing their way toward him for revenge.

“If you’ll regret it, don’t do it. If you do it, then never regret it…

You really think a cheap trick like this can shake me? Ignorant. Pathetic.”

Blinding light shot from Wang Xiaole’s eyes.

Under that unwavering gaze, this so‑called “hell” was torn open by his radiance in an instant.

The so‑called dead souls all vanished without a trace.

When his eyes cleared again, the bishop had somehow already launched another attack.

A longsword was stabbing straight for him.

At that hair‑thin margin between life and death, Wang Xiaole reacted.

His body turned into a blur and slipped through space itself, dodging the bishop’s killing blow.

With mastery over spatial law, almost no one else could have avoided that strike.

The battle was going even worse than the bishop had feared.

He had just used his full strength in that last assault.

To lay down such an illusion, he’d pushed his power to the limit; otherwise he couldn’t have created something that strong with a single move.

Unfortunately for him, he’d run into someone with a face too thick to be weighed, and nerves like steel—

a mental fortitude he’d never accounted for.

With no guilt, there was no fear of the illusion.

To Wang Xiaole, this kind of slaughter illusion was almost the least effective form of attack.

And precisely because he broke free so quickly, the bishop’s fear of him spiked even higher.

Even though his offensive had been dismantled with ease, the bishop didn’t freeze.

He immediately blasted backward, his body shooting away.

As he flew, a longsword condensed in his hand.

The dazzling sword light it released rolled forward like a storm of flying sand, hacking down toward Wang Xiaole.

This sword was a special gift from the Purple‑Robed Bishop, meant for moments exactly like this.