Chapter Thirty-Two: The End of the Great Battle

Link was momentarily stunned by the scene, then his face twisted into scorn. Both were priests, yet while Martin managed to maintain dignity even in fear, Dubai was the loudest before trouble struck, and the most terrified after. He had utterly disgraced the Church of the War God.

“Dubai, you’ve truly brought shame upon our church!” A sudden voice rang out, echoing Link’s unspoken thoughts and startling both him and Dubai. They turned in unison.

A masked figure, clad in black, emerged from the shadows. He moved with such silence that he seemed part of the night itself; even the sharp senses of White Spirit hadn’t detected his approach.

Link’s expression grew grave. “An assassin?”

The black-clad man glanced at Link with chilling indifference. That single look made Link feel as though he’d been thrown into an ice cellar; it was devoid of emotion, cold enough to send shivers down his spine. Clearly, this was a seasoned killer, his victims surely numbering in the dozens.

White Spirit sent a warning to Link, and the seriousness in Link’s eyes deepened. “A third-tier martial assassin?”

This remark brought a flicker of surprise to the masked assassin’s eyes. With a voice both raspy and sinister, he replied, “You saw through my strength at a glance. You have a keen eye, I’ll grant you that.”

Link remained expressionless, but Dubai, after a moment’s pause, exclaimed with delight, “That voice… Lord Altair, is that you? Lord Altair, why are you here? Did the Archbishop send you? Never mind, Lord Altair, let’s talk later—please deal with this heretic at once! He is the Archbishop of the Father God Church!”

With a powerful ally’s arrival, Dubai shed his prior cowardice, his voice once more brimming with excitement and malice. Altair, the black-clad man, turned cold eyes on Dubai, and suddenly raised his right hand. A sleeve arrow shot out, piercing Dubai’s throat.

Link, who’d intended to rebuke Dubai, was taken aback. He glanced at Dubai’s wide-eyed, collapsing form, then looked back at Altair and spoke in a low voice, “That man was your church’s presiding priest. Are you sure killing him won’t cause trouble?”

Altair snorted, “He was never worthy to serve the War God—craven, disgraceful, his death is no loss.”

Link whistled lightly and teased, “Cold-hearted indeed! You’re a true assassin, ruthless to the end. I don’t mind, though; assassins should be like that. Altair, is it? How about joining the Father God Church? I promise you’ll be treated better than in the Church of the War God.”

“Hmph. No need. I fight only for the noble War God,” Altair replied icily. “You needn’t waste words. I know you’re stalling, hoping to recover your strength.”

“Aha, you saw right through me…” Link managed a bitter smile. Indeed, he’d hoped to buy time to recover. Though his earlier victories had been overwhelming, the cost was high. His remaining internal energy and magic power were less than thirty percent; facing Altair at his peak gave him little chance.

Suddenly, Altair vanished without a sound. Link’s gaze sharpened, nerves taut, his eyes scanning for any sign of Altair.

Altair hadn’t truly disappeared or turned invisible; he’d blended with the shadows using a stealth technique akin to a chameleon, effective only in dim light. No matter how well he hid, though, traces remained.

Link quietly instructed White Spirit to locate Altair. Though White Spirit hadn’t noticed his arrival earlier, with all senses focused, things were different now.

Sure enough, White Spirit soon pinpointed Altair, who prowled about five meters away, poised to strike at any moment.

Link secretly breathed a sigh of relief. A powerful assassin skilled in hiding was terrifying, but once discovered, the dynamic shifted. Even the most formidable assassin, when exposed, could be bested in direct combat by an ordinary second-tier warrior.

Link began to silently chant the spell for Fireball. Altair assumed this was merely precaution; many mages he’d assassinated had prepared magic in advance, but he’d slain them all.

Before long, Link deliberately exposed a flaw—subtle, but enough for Altair. The assassin surged forward, dagger aimed for Link’s back.

In that instant, Link spun, leapt back, and unleashed fire, all in one fluid motion. He dodged the attack, and the Fireball spell exploded almost point-blank at Altair.

Seeing the fireball mere inches from his face, Altair’s expression shifted. He quickly shifted to defense, shielding his face with both hands. The fireball struck, flames roaring to life.

Yet Altair seemed to possess gear with magical resistance. The fire ignited only on his forearms, sparing his body and head. He channeled his battle energy, shaking off the flames, then flipped backward repeatedly, widening the distance and merging once more with the shadows.

Link frowned; the magic’s effect was lacking. Clearly, he’d need other tactics.

He rolled his eyes, and tried to provoke Altair, “Altair, for all your cold and arrogant demeanor, your skills aren’t so impressive. Assassins are said to be a mage’s nightmare, but honestly, you don’t quite live up to that reputation.”

Altair gave no response, remaining hidden. Link continued to taunt him, but Altair’s mind was resilient, unmoved by insults. Seeing he was getting nowhere, Link fell silent.

Still, this standoff granted Link time to recover. Altair surely hadn’t guessed that Link’s restoration abilities far surpassed the norm, both thanks to his magic core and the Nine Suns Divine Art. After a while, Link’s internal energy was nearly fifty percent, magic power about forty.

“Good, the longer I drag this out, the more it favors me. Seventy percent—no, with sixty percent internal energy and fifty percent magic, I can defeat this fellow!” Link mused, focusing on recovery while White Spirit kept a close watch on Altair.

Altair, meanwhile, kept his distance. He wasn’t reluctant to attack, nor was Link lacking in openings, and he hadn’t been scared off by the earlier blast. Rather, he sensed he was being watched.

As an assassin, Altair possessed keener senses than most. He was certain a pair of sharp eyes had locked onto him. No matter how he hid, he couldn’t shake their gaze.

Altair searched for the watcher, but found nothing. His night vision was good, but not enough to spot a white bird soaring thousands of meters overhead in the darkness.

In such circumstances, Altair would never attack rashly. He believed that even waiting a bit longer, he would have no trouble defeating the exhausted Link.

But this wait sealed his fate. Soon, Link, feeling restored, launched a Fire Rush spell at Altair. The swift fireball was nearly impossible for Altair to dodge; he could only raise his hand to block. Though it did little harm, it forced Altair into the open.

At once, Link charged, both hands unleashing the Sun Finger technique. Powerful force shot forth; Altair dodged just in time, then fired a sleeve arrow at Link. Link countered with another Sun Finger, knocking the arrow aside, though this left him slightly exposed.

Altair seized the opportunity, switching from defense to offense, his dagger flashing toward Link’s chest. But in that moment, a faint red aura enveloped Link, and as the dagger touched it, flames erupted. Altair, startled, instinctively pulled back and leapt away.

Seeing this, Link wore the smile of a hunter whose prey had fallen into his trap.

For just then, White Spirit appeared, swooping down from above like lightning. Altair sensed dire peril, turned to look, and saw a huge white bird descending at terrifying speed. In midair, he had no time to evade.

“So that’s it—the watcher was this creature. What kind of bird is this? Does the Father God Church keep such things?” Many thoughts raced through Altair’s mind, but none mattered. He knew he must fend off the attack, so he quickly raised his left hand to fire a sleeve arrow.

But another fireball struck, hitting Altair’s left hand—the Fire Rush spell, now ready again. Though it didn’t injure him, it knocked his hand aside, causing all the sleeve arrows to miss.

The next moment, White Spirit swooped in with a screech, claws tearing into Altair’s right arm, effortlessly shredding skin and muscle, nearly crushing the bone. The agony contorted Altair’s brow, and he uttered a muffled groan.

Altair stabbed at White Spirit with his dagger, hoping to free himself. Yet at that instant, Link closed in, striking Altair’s right hand with Sun Finger, nearly piercing it through. The dagger slipped from his grasp.

White Spirit seized the chance, slashing Altair’s right shoulder, almost shattering his collarbone. The pain finally broke the assassin’s stoic resolve, eliciting a cry of anguish.

From that moment, Altair’s combat power was all but gone. Though he could still fight, he was no longer a threat to Link. Link took advantage, channeled his internal energy, and struck Altair’s head, knocking him out cold.

“Whew, it’s finally over.” Link let out a long breath, relaxing his taut nerves. Altair’s defeat marked the end of the battle that would determine the fate of the Father God Church. From this day forward, the town of Kinko would belong solely to the Father God Church; no other sect would ever gain a foothold here again.