From the moment Sylvia descended upon Chernost City wrapped in sun-like divine radiance, the entire city seemed to spring to life.

Countless civilians prostrated themselves toward the massive pure white wings in the sky, offering worship with utmost reverence.

Even city guards and Imperial Legion knights knelt on one knee toward Sylvia in unison, faces filled with deep respect.

Generals stationed at each gate immediately dropped all duties and rushed at full speed toward the central square.

Watching the city transform into such a bustling scene because of her arrival, even Sylvia felt a flicker of shock.

She’d expected warmth—but never *this* much.

Is this the power of faith?

She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. The weight of countless eyes and kneeling figures pressing down like a tidal wave was genuinely overwhelming.

For a heartbeat, she even felt her very breathing must stay graceful—any misstep might tarnish the image before them.

With a swift motion, she dismissed her luminous wings and descended toward the square. Lingering aloft under that sea of gazes? She feared she’d crack.

"General Omas of the Empire’s Seventh Land Legion!"

"Lieutenant General Landry!"

"Major General Nema!"

"Major General Yuxi!"

"Pay respects to the Archangel!"

As Sylvia and Kroso touched down, the first-arriving generals knelt—left hand on knee, right pressed to chest—mirroring the soldiers’ posture.

"No need for formalities. Rise," Sylvia said gently.

Three men, one woman. She showed no favoritism, merely lifting a hand in gesture.

More officers soon arrived. Counting quietly, Sylvia noted three full Generals within the Seventh Land Legion—including a rare female General.

"Archangel," General Omas added respectfully, "several generals remain deployed beyond the city and couldn’t attend. Forgive the absence." His courtesy was flawless.

Touched by their sincerity, Sylvia kept a warm, steady smile.

Kroso, however, shifted slightly.

His wanted status remained. Though he’d entered with the Archangel, no familiar face dared greet him—and he felt no resentment. The Seventh Land Legion’s discipline was legendary. Had any general approached, *he’d* have stepped back first.

But…

Where was *he*?

If that guy were here, protocol be damned—he’d already be slapping Kroso on the shoulder with a grin.

Kroso scanned the crowd again. No sign. A faint furrow creased his brow.

"Where is General Gene? I’ve come to treat his injuries," Sylvia stated once greetings concluded.

"General Gene," Omas began, his chiseled face clouded with concern, "as sworn brothers with Lord Angus, he was placed entirely under the city lord’s care upon return. Lately… the manor gates stay shut. We haven’t visited in days. Lord Angus claims he’s crafting an alchemical reagent to heal him and forbids all disturbance."

"I see…?" Sylvia paused, then glanced at Kroso with quiet inquiry.

"Let’s go straight to the manor, Archangel. Lord Angus *is* deeply devoted to alchemy—this aligns with his nature," Kroso replied calmly.

"Then we’ll—"

"Angus, City Lord of Chernost City, pays respects to the Archangel!"

An aged yet resonant voice cut through the crowd. Generals parted. An elderly man in a dust-streaked alchemy robe, hair silvered with time, stepped forward.

He did not kneel. Only a slight bow, right hand to chest. Face unreadable.

A ripple of surprise passed among the generals—not just at the minimal gesture, but at how aged Angus appeared compared to days prior.

"No need for formalities," Sylvia said evenly.

"Regarding—"

"Archangel. You seek my elder brother? He awaits at the manor. Follow me."

Angus spoke first, tone so flat it carried a chill.

Sylvia stilled. First person since arrival to treat her presence as… incidental. Genuine surprise flickered in her eyes.

Around her, generals froze in disbelief.

*What is Lord Angus doing?!*

*Daring to address the Archangel like this?!*

Watching Angus turn away as if nothing mattered, Acting Commander Omas’s nostrils flared—steam practically rising.

"Angus! Halt!"

Status equal, patience spent, Omas strode forward and blocked his path.

"Hmph… Haven’t the Imperial Legion and The Church always clashed? Why this sudden, hollow reverence for the Archangel?"

Angus glanced up at the towering general, expression unchanged. Then his gaze shifted to Sylvia.

Slowly, a smile spread across his wrinkled face—deep, deliberate.

Meaningful.

Sylvia’s heart skipped.

*That look… dangerously meaningful.*