### Chapter 229: Turning Against Each Other (Part 2)
“An-geal…”
As the night wind swirled, I whispered the name I had started to hate, a sound that perhaps no one else could hear. Then, stepping forward, I lunged into the Moon Step.
Boom!
A drum-like thud erupted on the grassland.
With this sound, countless blades of grass and clumps of damp earth shot up into the air, bursting through the swirling dead smoke. Just as the silhouette of the girl vanished into the black mist, a moment later, she reappeared before Pope Angel, carried by a tempest. At that moment, no one could react in time.
Margaret, Doctor Birdbeak, the distant Old Pope, the sword-wielding woman, and those hooded figures hiding their faces—all of them still reeling from the earlier dragon’s roar. Most of them hadn’t even lowered their hands from their ears yet; everyone remained in a state of chaos and shock, completely unprepared for the girl’s sudden action.
She had broken free from the Divine Reliquary’s constraints and charged forward in an instant—something utterly impossible for everyone present. After all, that was the power of the Mother Deity. Even a real dragon would have to kneel and submit to such force, leaving little room for resistance, let alone a girl with a human body who was already exhausted.
She could barely stand.
Once this truth dawned on most people, their vigilance dropped considerably.
After all, tonight’s operation had been meticulously planned by Pope Angel himself, involving the presence of Saint Margaret, Doctor Chris, Archbishop Ansiel, and that legendary Sword Demon Anacelis. With all these heavy hitters involved, there was really nothing to worry about—
Originally, the plan was that if the first thing to emerge from Dragon Country was a “Demon,” or perhaps a female Heretic, instead of Miss Silvya, that would be the moment to mobilize everyone to take action. They had come prepared for the worst-case scenario. But now, things were unfolding in the smoothest possible way—Miss Silvya was the first to come out, and she was alone.
So the situation was clear.
They had hit the jackpot.
Miss Silvya had likely consumed the sealed Deity Body; her current state suggested as much. They had won this gamble.
Pope Angel had won.
Now, there was little to worry about. They only needed to wait for Miss Silvya to fall asleep, then they could take her away and proceed according to the previous protocols, slowly stabilizing the divine power within her. As for what Miss Silvya herself thought, what she had seen in Dragon Country, and what she had learned—none of that was important. After all, she would forget everything upon waking up.
To most of them, it seemed they had succeeded.
Pope Angel had deployed “Reverse Image End,” and Saint Margaret had summoned “Mother Deity’s Muddy Coffin.” Under the double weight of the Divine Reliquaries, how could a girl, already weak and wobbling as if she could topple over at any moment, possibly resist?
She was about to pass out.
Almost everyone, including Doctor Chris, Pope Angel, and Saint Margaret, was thinking this way, and many had already started planning for what would happen next. Then, in the next moment, an unexpected twist caught everyone off guard.
With a roar, a dragon’s cry erupted, mixing in an unmatched divine power, instantly shattering the restraints of the Divine Reliquary. A terrible aura and crushing pressure rushed toward them. Still dazed and blank, they could hardly comprehend what was happening when the girl’s figure reappeared before them.
Her eyes glowed with an eerie bl**d-red under the night.
Zing—
The blade sliced through the grass, cutting deep into the foliage, its ominous, bl**d-tinged scythe now resting against Pope Angel’s neck the moment she appeared before him. Ethereal white branches floated above the girl, buzzing with energy, divine power rippling outwards, creating waves in the air—a force they had never seen before.
One second.
That second felt like a mere blink, yet it also seemed to stretch on forever as the girl held the deadly weapon against Pope Angel’s neck, her face still pale and tired but her eyes burning with fierce rage and sorrow. Meanwhile, Pope Angel stood frozen, still facing her. He could have dodged, but he made no move to do so, choosing instead to slowly raise his hands—at last, someone reacted to the unfolding chaos.
Clang!
Anacelis was the first to draw her sword, its edge shining a ghostly light under the moon. With her small frame gripping the blade, she stepped forward confidently, while nearby, Doctor Birdbeak suddenly darted back several steps, water droplets floating around him as they rapidly coalesced into a sphere in his palm.
“Saint Choir, get ready—!”
“Quick, quick! Seal her with the Sin Barrier!!”
“Emily, act now—”
The cloaked figures shouted in panic, while Archbishop Ansiel murmured lowly, a soft golden light emanating from his surroundings. Margaret dropped her torch, coughing violently as she clutched her bone pendant again, staring at the girl in terror, crying out, “Silvya! No!”
“Move, move, move! Emily, what are you waiting for—”
“Shut up! Don’t you see the Pope standing there with her weapon in hand?”
“Anacelis, come back—”
Under the night, the tension thickened, strands of golden light lifting from the fire, shouts mingling with divine buzzing, echoing across the grassland. In the next moment, a booming command silenced the ruckus.
“No! One! Moves—!”
Before the girl, the young pope threw down his staff, raising both hands high, his handsome face contorting in rage as he screamed, “Stand still! No one is to lay a hand on her without my order!!!”
Behind him, amidst the chaos, the commotion settled under the force of his furious shout. The sword-bearing woman halted; Doctor Birdbeak dispersed his water sphere; Margaret removed her hand from the bone pendant, lifting both hands alongside Angel: “Silvya, don’t act rashly, please listen to me…”
“Shut up.”
The girl’s voice was chilling, devoid of warmth yet trembling slightly.
At this point, what more was there to say?
“Liar…”
I gazed into Angel’s face, locking onto his deep green eyes. They held the same familiar mix of laziness, rebellion, fearlessness, along with that warm and honest gaze reminiscent of a big boy.
But now, that gaze had become layered with complexities I couldn’t quite understand.
“An-gel, you’re a liar…”
I struggled to control my emotions, my grip on the scythe tightening as my arm trembled uncontrollably. “You’re all liars…”
“So, Little Black Charcoal, you want to k*ll me?”
In my blurry vision, the man’s expression gradually became calm, his tone devoid of emotion: “If you want to make a move, then do it. I won’t dodge.”
“Shut your mouth!”
“If I dodge, it means I’m guilty. But if I don’t, and you k*ll me just like that, doesn’t it prove that many things aren’t as you thought, and wouldn’t you then believe me and start regretting it?”
The heated blade pressed against Angel’s neck, drawing a line of bl**d. He should have been in pain, but he remained eerily calm—so calm it felt inhuman: “Come on, k*ll me.”
He suddenly reached out, grabbing the blade of the scythe, pulling it against his neck with force. I could hear the sizzling sound as it burned, and the scent of charred flesh filled the air.
