By the banks of the Moskva River, the Saint Basil’s Cathedral—rising 65 ters high, composed of eight magnificent towers—stood near Red Square, a structure ordered to be built by Tsar Ivan in the mid-16th century.
Since its construction, it had always been the heart of the city, even the center of the Grand Duchy of Moscow and Tsarist Ro.
But today, at the break of dawn, the streets that should have been bustling were devoid of a single pedestrian.
Rumble—!
Boom! Crack!!
As if heralding the tragic fate of the rger between the Russian Orthodox Church and Roman Catholicism, lightning poured down like rain, relentless and unending.
All was silent.
An extraordinary mont paired with extraordinary events—especially after the governnt had recently issued a state of ergency and evacuation order—only served to amplify the public’s fear.
Not long ago, news that the city of Ro had beco a sea of flas and Vatican City had been razed to the ground had spread across the world.
In the modern, 21st-century society, information travels with frightening speed.
The Italian governnt had neither the power nor the ans to conceal the truth.
In Vatican City, from the Pope, Cardinals, and Archbishops down to the Templar Knights, priests, and monks guarding the Holy Land—not one was spared.
Thus began the darkest hour in the history of Roman Catholicism. Its cohesion shattered, countless believers questioned or even abandoned their faith.
So attributed the "divine punishnt" to the alliance with the Slavs, blaming the high-ranking cardinals for betraying God’s commandnts and directing their anger toward the Russian Orthodox Church.
In short—utter chaos.
Upon hearing this, the hawkish factions of the Federation governnt and the Roman Orthodox Church exploded in outrage after repeatedly verifying the truth.
They had originally planned to let their allies take the lead while they profited from behind. But now, Roman Catholicism, which they had treated like a cash cow, had collapsed before the first blow!
Damn it! I’m the sucker now!
Before the lawmakers could even respond, intelligence agencies scattered across Southern, Central, and Eastern Europe relayed reports that the "Angel of Destruction" seed to be heading east...
Coming straight for us!
The ruins of Ro were still fresh in everyone’s minds. No further explanation was needed.
The elite and wealthy fled cities like Moscow with haste, carrying large bags of supplies to hide in rural areas.
Even the parliant couldn’t gather enough mbers to hold a session.
The spread of rumors and panic was terrifying. Accompanied by the governnt’s ergency alert and evacuation orders, many city dwellers fled to their hotowns.
Those who couldn’t evacuate in ti could only hide at ho, consud by paranoia, too afraid to step outside.
So underground whispers began to circulate...
Bishop Nikolai Tolstoy—Guilty!
Tap tap tap—!
As the torrential rain poured and thunder roared, echoing through the vibrantly colored tower corridors, a rush of footsteps resounded, and faint shouting could be heard.
"Damn it! Damn it!! Damn it all—!!"
Soone roared in fury, voice cutting through the downpour, hysterical and near madness.
"Heading toward Saint Petersburg... are they coming for us?!"
"That bastard Fiamma of the Right, and the Roman Catholic Church... all useless failures who only ruin things!!"
"Failures!! Spouting about how strong they were, how certain their victory was—yet when the enemy ca knocking, that mongrel ran off first! Shaless! Bastard! Damn red-haired monkey!"
Clad in bishop-level robes trimd with gold and soaked from rain-splashed puddles, Nikolai no longer held the calm and smug deanor of before.
He was sure that the opposition within the Orthodox Church was already plotting to overthrow his rule.
"Where is the Archbishop?!"
He shouted, referring to his superior in title, but with not a hint of respect—only disdain and contempt.
"The Archbishop is in the monastic palace of the central tower, Bishop sir. Rest assured, those guarding him are all our people, completely trustworthy."
"Mm." A voice calr now, after regaining composure.
As long as the Archbishop remained in their hands, Nikolai still held the position of bishop—second only to one, superior to thousands. Replacing his superior would simply be a matter of ti.
"We cannot let the calamity summoned by the heretics harm our beloved Archbishop. Prepare for relocation. Bring the Archbishop here."
Compared to the alert guards at his side, the middle-aged man—sowhat overweight—stood under the gallery pavilion with arrogance as he issued orders.
"Yes, sir!" ×N
"Quick! Hurry! Into the cathedral!" A group of knights and professional magi imdiately split off, weaving through corridor after corridor to reach the monastic palace where the Archbishop was confined.
Suddenly, while walking briskly, Nikolai jerked his head up. "Who’s there?! Show yourself!!"
"The man-eating hag from the walking hut~"
In the next mont, accompanied by a girlish singsong voice, an old woman wrapped in countless fragnted shadows suddenly materialized in the corridor—and made her presence known.
Boom!
A massive burst of fla exploded. The professional magi rushing forward rolled across the ground, writhing in pain, screaming and cursing.
"Magic combat unit, knights—protect the Bishop!"
Fairy Magic—Vasilisa. Nikolai recognized the spell pattern imdiately, along with the voice. This woman had repeatedly defied his commands within the Russian Orthodox Church.
An aggravating noise.
"So it’s you... that damned witch in love with a man-eating monster... Hmph. Sister Vasilisa of the ’Annihilatus.’ I don’t know why you’re here, but your actions are unreported. Are you committing heresy?!"
He adjusted his bishop robes and turned around. Without any further ado, he imdiately slapped on the charge of heresy.
"Spare , Nikolai Tolstoy."
The voice, filled with contempt—even hatred—made Nikolai’s expression freeze. From the church’s shadow stepped out Vasilisa, leader of the Russian Orthodox Church’s special unit, the Annihilatus.
"Nikolai, you’re a sinner. You imprisoned the Archbishop, seized power that was not yours. Whether declaring war on Academy City or siding with Roman Catholicism—none of it was sanctioned. It was all your own doing."
Outside the eaves, the rain raged. Under the awning, the flickering lanterns danced with wind and water. Her once red nun’s robes seed even redder now—several patches clearly stained with blood.
"And more than that, Nikolai—you dared to abduct Sasha!"
Vasilisa’s posture, like a judge delivering a death sentence, infuriated Nikolai.
He had abducted Sasha Kreutzev flawlessly—without a trace. Aside from Fiamma of the Right and his own n, no one knew. How did she find out?
"Utter nonsense! I, Nikolai Tolstoy, as a high priest of the Russian Orthodox Church, hereby declare—Vasilisa is a heretic. Attempting to assassinate the Archbishop. Her cris are unforgivable. She is to be executed on the spot!"
With a cold sneer, Nikolai denied everything. At the sa ti, a strange vortex began to form around him. It was clear, like water—but not of this world.
"Water of Death!"
As the vortex appeared, the trifold crosses of the Orthodox Church adorning the corridor spontaneously ignited.
Nikolai snapped his fingers. Instantly, the strange water surged forward like a tsunami toward Vasilisa. In the blink of an eye, the man-eating hag’s shadowy afterimage was consud and vanished in the transparent deluge.
Vasilisa made no move to resist. Instead, she exhaled deeply, turned around, and dropped to one knee.
"Your Highness, everything is yours to command. The Russian Orthodox Church must withdraw from this aningless war."
"Gladly," ca a mocking voice.
Soone this close—and he hadn’t sensed them at all?!
In that instant, every hair on Nikolai’s body stood on end. His long-idle body, softened by years of comfort, suddenly tightened.
Zzzzz—!
"Aaaaah!"
Sensing mortal danger, Nikolai dove and rolled aside. Accompanied by the horrifying sound of blades tearing through flesh, several knights who had just been dispatched to the central tower collapsed in pools of blood.
Chunks of severed flesh scattered across the ground—bloody and grueso beyond words.
"Nikolai... truly a fitting na to represent ruin."
Tap tap!
What t the eye was a pair of crystalline crimson pupils.
A silver-haired beauty in a white-and-gold formal battle dress, exquisitely embroidered with sacred golden lilies. Holy radiance, six wings, and a halo—all showcasing Selene’s otherworldly charm.
"An angel... no, wait. White hair, red eyes, diamond-shaped pupils... It’s you—the First of Academy City!"
Rising to his feet, Nikolai stared straight into Selene’s eyes, recalling her distinct features. Realization hit him, and he gritted his teeth. "Vasilisa, traitor! You betrayed the Russian Orthodox Church, betrayed the faith of the Cross!"
"The strongest of Academy City—our conflict with your Academy was all a misunderstanding. We were deceived by Roman Catholicism. If you choose not to interfere, you will gain the friendship of the Russian Orthodox Church. We will do our utmost to end this needless war and offer proper compensation."
"That woman is an old witch! She’s the girl who gained happiness by burning her mother and sister to death! Compared to a fickle traitor, the friendship of the entire Russian Orthodox Church holds more weight."
He looked at Selene, his words sincere, his expression earnest.
"Tsk..."
Selene shook her head, dismissing his words entirely, never even considering him as a puppet. With a mocking smile, she extended her hand and clenched it calmly.
Schlkk—Boom!
Crack! Crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack—!
The crisp sound of snapping bones echoed one after another, like stepping on dried twigs—breaking, breaking, and breaking again. It ford a chilling lody of shattering skeletons.
In an instant, blood sprayed, and screams rang out in waves.
To his horror, Nikolai realized that all his elite magi had vanished. All that remained were chunks of flesh and shattered bone.
Inside the sacred cathedral, the floor was splattered with blood and filth. The Ascension sculpture of Saint Basil, the oil painting of the Virgin Mary—every single sacred image was stained with dripping blood.
Thud.
Collapsing to the ground, Nikolai swore he had never seen a more terrifying sight in his life. The light in his eyes faded completely. Scrambling backward, he no longer cared about the dignity of a bishop.
Selene silently lowered her hand. This man was far too greedy—and entirely unaware of it.
Monts ago, he’d dressed his pleas in solemnity, posing as the victim and denouncing Roman Catholicism. But Selene had noticed how his hand had subtly slipped into his robe to grasp a teleportation scroll—and his eyes had flicked toward his guards and the approaching knights.
"Why?! Why didn’t the teleportation scroll activate?!"
Panicked, Nikolai shrieked in desperation as he scrambled backward—until his hand touched sothing large and hard.
Turning in a daze, he saw it was a head.
A twisted, mangled head—but a familiar face.
His personal guard commander.
Right now, his blood-covered palm was pressed against the lifeless face that had lost its skull, leaving only the front.
A single shriveled eyeball, still glistening with fluid, stared up at him—filled with unbearable pain and despair. It was grotesque and absurd, yet carried a heavy sense of unfinished rage.
"Aaaaahhh—!!" Nikolai gasped, suddenly leaping up, eyes bloodshot. He smashed the skull with a roar.
"I surrender! I’m willing to give up everything I have, as long as..."
Shlck—
A blazing spear of light suddenly pierced through Nikolai’s forehead!
The intensely sharp, searing-hot spear blasted straight through the brown hair at the back of his skull, trailing wisps of white smoke. All that remained were ruptured chunks of scorched flesh—and the faintly appetizing scent of roasted brain.
A wave of illusory fla spread out from Selene, dissolving the blood, bones, and gore in the blink of an eye. Everything was erased—except the scorched Orthodox trifold cross banner. It was as if nothing had happened.
"Surrender agreent. Declare war on the Roman Catholic remnants. You know what to do."
As Selene examined the black-striped, white-background trifold cross flag of the Russian Orthodox Church, she reached out with a flick of her hand.
Suspended mid-air like a quail was the so-called Supre Archbishop of the Russian Orthodox Church, trembling violently.
A slender figure with golden hair and brown eyes, bearing curves even more alluring than the real woman Vasilisa—so delicate that if left outside for three days, he might disappear forever.
He wore stately vestnts tailored for the Archbishop, but on him they lacked any gravitas. It looked like a child playing dress-up in his father’s suit.
"Y-Yes... I will fulfill your commands..." Timid to the extre, he didn’t dare disobey a single word from Selene.
Clearly, witnessing Selene crush dozens of magi monts ago had stunned the boy—likely scarring him psychologically.
So this was one of the heads of the three major branches of the Cross Church. But as a subordinate nation under Ferdinand? This would do.
Rip—!
"Fragile like a porcelain doll... He still has so use. Don’t let him die."
After a few more glances, Selene lost interest. Still cradled in Vasilisa’s arms, she waved her hand. A kaleidoscopic black cavity tore through the physical universe, and she stepped one foot inside.
"Your Highness, aren’t you going to participate in the surrender ceremony?" Vasilisa asked quickly as she saw Selene preparing to leave.
"Not interested. I trust you won’t let down... And ? I still need to savor the final dessert before the grand feast begins."
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