The barrier enveloping Gelimu Port remained faintly visible.
Allen's expression darkened.
The expressions of everyone present shifted.
Even a peak fourth-rank strike was useless?
"...We can't get out." Old Morgan's voice was low as he stood beside Lu Yuan, his hand gripping his weapon trembling slightly.
Behind them, the flesh trees were still spreading, and those "resurrected" heads were still frantically screaming for their "Mother." Ahead, the path was blocked.
Gelimu Port... was truly sealed off.
An atmosphere of despair began to spread.
"Establish a defense!"
Allen turned around, his voice cold and decisive, cutting through the encroaching despair.
"All Holy Armored Army and Nightwatchers, spread out! Establish a defensive line at the rear! Stall for time! Do not let those things near here!"
"Understood!" Sivating responded immediately, swinging his great blade. "Left wing, follow me!"
"The right wing is mine." Raymond called out to the remaining Holy Armored Army soldiers to spread to the right. "Everyone keep your distance, do not get bogged down in combat!"
At the great ascendant's gesture, the two Arbiters beside him also joined the fray.
They began firing at the encroaching flesh trees.
Flames and holy light intertwined, forming a temporary defensive line at the rear.
But everyone knew this was merely a stalling tactic.
The number of flesh trees was too great; it was only a matter of time before the defense was breached.
Hans had already joined the line, holding his silver greatsword and constantly repelling the flesh tree vines spreading from the west. He had already severed countless vines, yet more kept surging forth.
"Don't let them get close!" Hans roared, severing several vines with a single swing. "Hold the line!"
Mary was at the center of the line, gun in hand, the barrel continuously spitting fire to repel the mutants attempting to break through the blockade.
Rain and gunpowder smoke covered her face, but her eyes remained calm.
The roar of collapsing buildings echoed in the distance as another area was swallowed by the flesh trees.
Just then, the sound of carriage wheels rolling over cobblestones came from afar.
A fleet of black carriages fought its way out from the direction of the inner city, their wheels stained with blood as they rumbled over the rain-soaked pavement.
"It's the church!" someone shouted, their voice carrying uncontrollable excitement.
The crowd defending the front automatically parted to create a path.
White-robed priests descended from the carriages, accompanied by deacons holding scriptures.
They were shrouded in a faint glow; wherever the holy light passed, the foulness in the air seemed to dissipate slightly.
Their arrival thinned the despair permeating the crowd.
The convoy stopped, and the carriage doors opened.
The archbishop stepped out, his purple robes flapping in the rain.
Lu Yuan noticed that his state was completely different from when they were at the viscount's manor.
The old man who had nearly collapsed upon learning that the Angel's gaze had moved away was gone, replaced by a resolve akin to burning one's bridges.
His face was still pale, but his gaze had regained its composure.
It was as if he had made a certain decision.
The archbishop's gaze swept over the flickering barrier before him, then glanced back at the encroaching flesh trees.
"Step aside, let us handle it."
His voice carried an unquestionable authority.
Allen glanced at him, asked no questions, and quickly retreated to give them space.
His own attacks had no effect on the barrier; now they could only see what method the church had.
Lu Yuan's hand was still gripped around the parchment scroll in his robes.
He had already grasped it when Allen attacked the barrier earlier.
But nothing had happened.
No system prompts, no unusual movements—nothing.
It was just like an ordinary roll of parchment.
Lu Yuan didn't know what this thing was waiting for, but he had no other choice for now.
He would see the archbishop's method first.
If it still didn't work...
He glanced at the scroll in his chest.
Then he would have to open it.
The archbishop did not delay and signaled with a wave of his hand.
A door to one of the larger carriages opened, and six deacons filed out.
They carried a white carved coffin, walking forward with slow, solemn steps.
The coffin emitted a soft radiance, forming a stark contrast with the surrounding darkness and gore.
"What is that?" someone whispered.
No one answered.
The coffin was set down, and the lid was slowly pushed open.
A statue of an Angel lay inside.
Pure white wings, closed eyes, and hands joined in prayer—every inch of its lines radiated a sacred aura.
Simply lying there quietly, it made the surrounding air feel heavy.
Lu Yuan felt an invisible pressure radiating from the statue, a sensation similar to when he first entered the church, but far stronger and more real.
At the edge of his vision, grey-white text flickered silently:
【High-level holy item detected: Angel Vessel (Dormant)】
【Trait: Holy power container; can briefly host an Angel's will】
"An Angel Vessel..." Old Morgan's voice was raspy as he whispered, "He's going to use the vessel to summon the Angel's power."
Lu Yuan recalled what the archbishop had said before: an Angel could not cross that boundary without a physical vessel.
So he had brought the vessel; this was the Gelimu Port church's final trump card.
The archbishop walked to the front of the statue and drew a small silver knife from his robes, his expression solemn.
He cut his palm, and blood dripped onto the pure white stone surface, the crimson and white intertwining in a shocking display.
The priests formed a circle, opening the scriptures in their hands, and began to chant ancient prayers in low voices.
The prayers were in a language Lu Yuan could not understand, but every syllable seemed to carry a strange power, making the air heavy.
Cracks began to appear on the surface of the statue as the chanting rose and fell.
These cracks were not damage but the marks of some kind of awakening.
Golden light seeped from the fissures, growing brighter and more intense until the statue's eyes slowly opened.
They were eyes without pupils, containing only pure golden light.
Lu Yuan subconsciously held his breath.
A phantom peeled away from the stone body.
Golden wings unfurled, reaching several meters high, radiating a searing holy light.
The light was so dazzling that the people below did not dare look directly at it.
The phantom hovered in mid-air, looking down at the crowd below, sacred and majestic.
The black mist permeating the air was briefly suppressed by the holy light, and those heads that had been constantly screaming for their "Mother" went quiet for a moment, as if even they were cowed by this power.
"It's an Angel!..." someone gasped in a low voice.
Everyone's tense gazes fell upon that golden phantom.
Whether they could leave alive now depended entirely on the church.
The Angel phantom flew toward the barrier, pressing its golden hands against the flickering wall.
The holy light intensified.
The barrier began to tremble under the radiance, emitting a low humming sound.
A crack was slowly torn open.
"It's working!" a voice came from the Ascension Society crowd, filled with suppressed excitement.
The crack expanded—one inch, two inches, three inches...
Lu Yuan felt Old Morgan beside him breathe a sigh of relief.
In the distance, Allen's brow relaxed slightly as he watched.
People in the crowd began to show expressions of relief, as if having survived a catastrophe.
"We can get out..."
"We can finally get out..."
Just as expressions of joy surfaced—
In the next instant, a massive amount of black pus erupted from the crack.
The pus acted like a living thing, spreading frantically along the crack, and the moment it touched the Angel phantom, the golden light began to corrode.
"Something's wrong!" Allen's expression changed instantly.
The Angel let out a silent scream.
The phantom twisted and deformed, and charred black spots appeared on its golden wings as if they were being burned.
It struggled to break free, but the black pus seemed sentient, clinging to it tightly and continuously eroding it.
The archbishop's face turned deathly pale in an instant.
"No..."
He suddenly bit his tongue and spat a mouthful of blood onto the scriptures in his hand.
The holy light around his body began to surge frantically, being continuously channeled into the statue.
"Sir! Your body can't handle it!" a priest cried out.
The archbishop ignored him, blood already seeping from his eyes and leaking from the corners of his mouth, but the transmission of holy light did not stop.
It was no use.
The Angel phantom continued to dim.
The gold was being extinguished bit by bit, like a candle flame being swallowed inch by inch by the darkness.
The phantom's struggles grew weaker, like a bird caught in a quagmire, sinking deeper with every flutter.
"How is this possible..." the archbishop's voice carried utter despair. "With a vessel, how could the Angel's power... be suppressed..."
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