The Archbishop remained silent, pausing for a moment. As the last vestiges of the holy halos completely faded, he once again raised the Holy Cross, or rather, what remained of it. Then, a miracle occurred.

The seemingly inanimate, greyish-white sword core suddenly erupted with a dazzling golden light, more brilliant than any illumination seen since the battle began.

"Then let me show you," Archbishop Ralph announced with a confident smile, his voice echoing throughout the ruined cathedral, "the true form of the Light Sword Estath, eighth of Zephyros's Ten Great Divine Artifacts!" As he spoke, he used his hand to shatter all the remaining black metal shell covering the sword.

The Light Sword Estath appeared in its complete form before everyone's eyes. The body and blade, approximately 1.2 meters long and ten centimeters wide, were forged from a pure, golden light metal. This metal radiated a warm yet immensely powerful aura. The hilt and pommel, roughly half a meter long, were crafted from the same material.

The handguard was the former transverse beam of the crucifix, also emitting a radiant light. Most notably, at the junction of the sword body, handguard, and hilt, was a circle of light, within which resided a small, fist-sized energy sphere, continuously emitting tiny sparks of light. From this sphere, pure light filaments flowed endlessly in both directions. One part infused the blade, making it sharper and more potent, while the other flowed into Archbishop Ralph's body, restoring his depleted aether.

Instantly, Archbishop Ralph's aether surged, becoming as abundant as it was at the battle's outset. The sword blade also blazed brilliantly, emitting a powerful, overwhelming aura.

"Each day," Archbishop Ralph explained proudly, "the sincere prayers and the positive aether from countless devotees are absorbed and accumulated by the Light Sword Estath. I also regularly channel my own aether into it. You're not just fighting me; you're facing the spirit and faith of all East Aerion. Do you still think you can win?"

"Hah! What a coincidence," the Bloodluster roared with laughter, devoid of fear. He held up the white bone skull-faced necklace he always wore around his neck. " I have a little toy like that too. This is Bloodthirst, fed by the blood and souls of everyone I've killed over many years."

From the necklace, a stream of thick, black, foul-smelling blood began to flow downwards, forming a massive pool of blood beneath the Bloodluster's feet. And from within that pool of blood, countless viscous, black blood tentacles began to rise, writhing grotesquely like the tendrils of a colossal octopus from hell.

Archbishop Ralph stood on the High Altar, the Light Sword Estath resting horizontally on his shoulder, his posture as majestic as a god of war. He once again activated supportive spells on himself.

His entire body was now enveloped in a golden protective aura, and a pair of vast, powerful wings of pure light had also appeared behind him. He assumed a ready stance and smiled at the Bloodluster, who stood amidst a sea of blood and tentacles. "Ready for round two?"

"Do I look like someone who is afraid?" The Bloodluster bellowed, the blood tentacles around him also extending, ready to strike.

Two figures, one gold and one red, one holy and one evil, once again lunged at each other, forming two long streaks of light.

When those opposing streams of light violently collided, an explosion even greater than the last occurred, blowing apart more than half of the remaining structure of Estath Cathedral.

Countless black blood particles and golden light fragments shot out in all directions, shattering surrounding architectural structures within a radius of hundreds of meters. The soldiers and monks fighting nearby were also heavily affected by the aftershocks of this confrontation.

East Estath city was plunged into a chaotic morning, the air filled with the smell of death and an invisible fear. About four hundred meters from the central military command post, a figure in a jet-black robe stood imposingly in a small square devastated by swift skirmishes.

Nine corpses, their Investigation Bureau uniforms tattered and soaked in fresh blood, lay scattered beneath his boots. Among them was Cole, a seasoned investigator, his face still etched with extreme horror. The man hidden behind the hood smirked, a gesture full of contempt and cruelty.

"Aerion rats. So cautious, it's funny," he muttered, the sound lost in the cold early morning breeze.

"Five from the church heading this way, a few more from the barracks trying to reach the cathedral. If Lord Laurent hadn't put me here to block these little messengers, General Zalogr might have caught on and ruined everything." He mused, casually raising an ancient, intricately carved silver flask to his lips and taking a swig of strong liquor.

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The potent, fiery taste mingled with the thick, acrid smell of blood in the air, a flavor he particularly savored.

He hadn't had a chance to enjoy the feeling of victory or find a broken stone to rest, when a powerful, cold, murderous aura suddenly swept past.

The instincts of a top-tier predator, honed through countless battles, told him a formidable enemy was approaching. He spun around, his dagger-sharp eyes, hidden deep beneath the hood, staring intently at the roof of an opposite house. The tiles there had been shattered by the recent clashes.

A man with a massive physique, his square, resolute face like a sculpted statue, stood imposing amidst the dim dawn, the powerful aura of Ragley radiating overwhelmingly, like a volcano about to erupt, ready to crush anything in its path.

"Can't avoid some real work, it seems," the man smirked, an evil, belligerent smile clear on his gaunt face. "So be it. A little exercise before Lord Laurent officially stirs this whole stagnant mess."

Without a word of warning, without a superfluous gesture, two dark figures, one large and imposing, the other tall, thin, and sinister, lunged at each other like long-starved beasts.

The man's black robe billowed in the morning breeze, like the wings of death, merging with the powerful, precise, and authoritative attacks of Ragley.

Each of their clashes, whether with fists, feet, or invisible weapons, created terrifying shockwaves. The dilapidated surrounding structures trembled violently, with bricks and stones shattering and flying everywhere.

East Aerion was engulfed in a sea of fire and screams. Unexpected attacks, perfectly orchestrated, erupted simultaneously in all districts, sowing terror and chaos.

The elite army of East Aerion was spread thinner than ever, stretched to its limits to deal with countless ferocious monsters and enemies of unknown origin, appearing and disappearing like phantoms.

The three remaining pillars of East Aerion's strength - General Zalogr, Chief Investigator Ragley, and Commander Thomas - were also forced to divide themselves to defend vital fronts, each facing their own dangers, their "handpicked" adversaries.

General Zalogr, in his familiar lightning armor that had become a symbol of strength and indomitability, clashed directly with two colossal Undead Hosts.

The monsters, formed from countless stitched-together corpses, roared savagely, exuding a thick miasma of death that could make weaker warriors vomit.

They relentlessly attacked with powerful swings of their arms and mind-shattering roars, forcing Zalogr to both parry the furious blows and use his own body to shield the innocent civilians fleeing in panic like a scattered beehive.

This cost him more time than anticipated, frustration and worry evident on his face, already deeply lined from years of warfare.

" Damn it! That accursed old Ralph! If he were here to help, things would have been much easier," Zalogr roared in anger, dodging a deathly swing from an Undead Host. The cold wind from the blow grazed his cheek with a burning sensation.

His lightning power, usually the bane of the Undead, was difficult to fully unleash while having to be wary of the hundreds, thousands of weak civilians seeking safety around him. Just one stray bolt of lightning, however small, could cause catastrophic, unnecessary casualties.

After a period of fierce engagement, when the last of the civilians had been escorted to relative safety by lower-ranking soldiers and volunteer Rankers, Zalogr could finally unleash his full combat strength.

He roared, a sound that seemed to tear the air apart. His hair stood on end, the lightning armor on his body flashing with dazzling blue electric arcs. The two Undead Hosts, after Zalogr's initial probing attacks and restraint, were now covered in countless charred wounds inflicted by lightning, patches of rotting flesh smoking with a burnt stench.

The Rank 6 hovered in mid-air, his hands like two colossal sources of lightning energy. Blue electric arcs continuously flashed, dancing around him like electric serpents of death.

"You rotten filth! Have your fill!" Zalogr sneered, his eyes glinting with ruthlessness. "Thunderbolt!"

Two gigantic lightning bolts, carrying the destructive power of nature's fury, shot from his hands straight down towards the two bizarre monsters roaring below.

CRACK!

The two lightning bolts struck almost simultaneously, the deafening sound of the explosion echoing even louder, as if to tear apart this desolate space. The blinding light of the lightning momentarily plunged everything around into a white void. The two colossal Undead Hosts, symbols of death and evil, were completely incinerated into black ash amidst their final agonizing roars.

Zalogr landed lightly on the ground, the aftershocks of his attack still shaking the earth beneath his feet. He didn't leave immediately, leisurely lighting a cigarette, the white-grey smoke mingling with the death-filled air, his cold, sharp eyes staring at the smoldering pile of ash, waiting.

"Intel said two more of these brutes should be crawling out right about now, didn't it?" he muttered, recalling the critical detail in the urgent report his subordinate had delivered just before the battle began.

Just as the experienced general predicted, two gaunt, skeletal monsters with vicious faces and bloodshot, hungry eyes tore through the thick ash and emerged. Their skin was pale, stretched taut over their deformed skeletons, their long, sharp claws like razors flailing in the air, seeking prey.

Instinctive hunger drove the two newly reborn monsters to seek food immediately, but in this devastated battlefield, only Zalogr remained around them, a single prey, yet exuding an incredibly dangerous aura.

Zalogr gave them no opportunity to cause havoc or attack any remaining civilians. The two savage monsters, freshly born from destruction, before they could even clearly perceive the world around them, had to face the direct wrath of a mighty Rank 6, one of Zephyros's most battle-hardened warriors. Their fate, needless to say, was already sealed.

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