Chapter Fifty-Five: Utter Defeat

"High Priest?"
On a raised platform, the king gazed at the elderly man below, robed in azure and gold ceremonial garb, and could not help but be taken aback.
In Cecil, due to its proximity to the northern tribes, the priests of the God of Nature had come frequently in recent years to preach in the southern lands.
Yet, in the past, the highest ranking he'd ever seen was a priest in yellow robes—never before had so many appeared at once.
At this thought, he frowned and shifted his gaze to the priest before him.
Within his perception, a vast and loathsome power lay dormant within the other's seemingly frail body, brimming with an unwelcome vitality that filled him with disgust and an impatient urge to destroy.
It was a fundamental opposition: Nature, as an integral part of the world's order, was by its very essence at odds with the decay and chaos of the Outer Gods. When they met, their powers would naturally suppress each other, each instinctively repulsed by the other.
Meanwhile, the assembled nobles witnessed this scene in shock.
Neither side concealed themselves any longer; the black-clad guards stood with expressionless faces, waves of destructive, corrupting magic swirling from their bodies—each one as powerful as a second-tier magical beast. And opposite, the priests allowed the radiance of divine power to shine forth without restraint, vast surges of natural energy transforming the surroundings into small domains of nature.
The energies of both sides spilled from their bodies, colliding fiercely at the arena's center. It seemed as if gods of entirely opposing natures stood in confrontation.
Sensing these powers, the king's mad expression faltered for a moment as he looked down at Artis.
Bathed in the glow of nature, Artis stood with elegant bearing, his eyes deep as ink. Surrounded by the respectful priests, he seemed like a deity descended to earth, dazzling to behold.
At the sight of this figure, disgust flashed in the king's eyes. The deeper the shadow of the demonic god looming above his head grew, the more frenzied his heart became, unable to stifle his murderous intent.
But suddenly, his face froze, as if sensing something.
"You've noticed, haven't you?"
Below, Artis spoke coolly.
"What is happening?" someone in the audience asked, puzzled.
Moments later, faint tremors came from outside the arena, and all turned to look.
From their vantage, they saw, beyond the walls, the clash of battle as a horde of tribal warriors in vine armor stormed in from the outskirts.
The air was soon thick with the stench of blood and the cries of combat. The barbarian army collided fiercely with the king's besieging forces. Among them, a warrior clad in armor shone with battle energy—it was Nadir.
On the king's side, knights charged about, their battle energy merging into a continuous wave. But the tribal barbarians, wild-eyed and fearless, drove them back at every turn.
"Slay their army!"
"Fight for the God of Nature! Even in death, we shall ascend to the divine realm!"
With these cries, the barbarians invoked the God of Nature, divine spells shining on their bodies—each one wielded divine magic.
Such was the universality of the priestly path. Unlike other systems, it required only sincere faith; no matter one's talent, as long as their devotion was pure and their worship genuine, they could grasp the divine arts. No other path was as lenient.
"You!" the king shouted, unable to contain himself as he stared furiously at Artis. "Why?"
His expression was crazed, his eyes wild. A bloody aura began to seep from his body, making him look like a fiend.
The nobles below were struck with terror at the sight of their king, unable to believe their eyes.

"He's been corrupted—he's succumbing to the Abyss's demonic energy!" an aged knight exclaimed in horror, staring at the raving king.
In the next instant, chaos erupted in the arena.
As if by prior arrangement, several priests in yellow robes and the black-clad guards leapt at one another, each finding an opponent. Divine magic and demonic energy clashed, shattering the once pristine arena.
At the forefront, a slash of blood-black battle energy crashed down on Artis, brimming with demonic aura.
Crash!
A great ringing impact echoed—the sound of iron striking iron.
The elderly priest in azure and gold had appeared at the front, his divine emblem glowing faintly, merging with the divine power upon him to form a protective barrier.
He gazed at the king before him, his ancient body surging with mighty divine power and eyes full of contempt. "Your soul is already tainted by the demonic!"
As he spoke, divine power erupted from him. With a wave of his hand, the fire elements in the air gathered and, guided by sacred incantation, flared into being.
A crimson fireball formed, threaded with black, radiating an aura of destruction as it shot forward.
The king instinctively raised his sword and struck.
Boom!
The fireball exploded, flames engulfing the area. Within the inferno, the king charged forward with a low growl, scorched but undeterred.
Another barrage followed, fire elements gathering ceaselessly as the High Priest summoned spell after spell to meet the king's assault.
But as the king drew closer, his terrifying might became fully apparent—a third-tier Sky Knight, now partially demonized, his strength had grown monstrous. In close combat, he pressed the High Priest hard.
Yet, though heavily suppressed, the High Priest did not yield. The radiance of his divine spells shone ever brighter, one miracle after another.
As time passed, the situation outside grew clear.
The king's city soldiers were routed by the priests devoted to the God of Nature, and some began making their way toward the arena.
Seeing this, the king let out a mad snarl and broke away from the priest, his face stormy.
At this point, there was no use in continuing the fight. The priests were blocking his every move, and with the army closing in, defeat was inevitable.
Watching the scene below, his mind grew ever more deranged, his reason fading. He drew a small scepter from his robes.
"No!" someone in the audience shouted.
Amid the commotion, Ariel cried out, "Artis! Stop him!"
"Hahaha! Too late!" The king felt the heat emanating from the scepter in his hand, and laughed wildly.
As he acted, a change began to unfold.
The scepter glowed faintly red, as if stained by blood, radiating a crimson sheen. Then, a wave of overwhelming authority spread forth.
It was a terrible, bloody power, expanding into a vast crimson domain. Within it, countless bones drifted, curses brewed, and the wrath of innumerable dead souls coalesced into a dreadful apparition.
It was a king of immense majesty, crowned, and from the moment he appeared, a powerful aura pressed down on all present, forming a domain that crushed everything.

"That's the Ancestor God of Cecil—Celsia!"
One noble after another cried out, and beneath the crushing terror, they fell to their knees, eyes filled with despair.
This was the true foundation of the city-state's power, the greatest pillar of the king's rule.
In the past, even as king and nobles fought amongst themselves, as long as the Ancestor God was not summoned, there was room for maneuver. But now, with the deity present, there could be no turning back.
Beside Artis, the priests endured the overwhelming force emanating from ahead, barely able to stand beneath the oppressive domain—a force that could topple them at any moment.
A muffled groan sounded at the fore. The High Priest, his body now streaked with blood, stood firm before the Ancestor God, his ceremonial robes stained red.
"My God!"
He prayed frantically, then looked at Artis, still standing tall. Divine power surged within him as he tried to advance.
"The evil god must not prevail!" he roared inwardly, forcing himself forward. But after a single step, he stumbled and could go no further.
Now, only Artis remained standing in the arena.
As if in answer to the priests' desperate prayers, he sighed. Amid the shocked and unbelieving stares of all present, he remained calm, unaffected, and walked steadily toward the Ancestor God.
With each step, it was as if a presence in the unseen awakened and resonated with him. Threads of starlight appeared, winding about his body, casting him in a divine glow.
With the first step, a vision of mountains and rivers appeared behind him—verdant grass, lush trees, and the cycles of nature unfolding in silence.
With the second, life emerged—beasts, birds, and insects appeared, displaying scenes of bloody strife and teeming vitality across the lands.
With the third, the animals vanished, replaced by primitive tribes struggling to survive within nature. In the distance, faint whispers could be heard—prayers offered in devotion.
Scene after scene played out, until at last all faded, leaving only one thing behind.
A colossal ancient tree, its image towering and still, manifested behind Artis. Every branch and leaf brimmed with immense power and radiant light.
Bathed in this glow, Artis raised his head. His once dark eyes now shone with golden, noble divinity.
"I declare: evil shall be purified!"
As his words fell, a distant star trembled. Merged with boundless purple energy and divine might, it radiated an overwhelming sacred force.
Then, the ancient tree's shadow quivered. From one of its branches, a swath of starlight swept down like a river, bearing down mightily.
"No!"
Sensing the tremendous power, the Ancestor God turned, unleashing a domain of bloody darkness filled with the wails of the damned.
But under the crushing starlight, both domain and bones were ground away by the infinite might. At last, with a flash of divine light, the Ancestor God was utterly destroyed.
There, before the king's throne, Artis stood, gazing down. In his brow, a trace of divinity appeared—as if a god had descended to the world.
"My God, are you finally awakening?"
At the sight, the priests could no longer restrain themselves. They fell to their knees, gazing up at the impossibly beautiful youth before them, hearts overflowing with irrepressible awe and devotion.