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The Round of 32 had concluded following the Round of 64.

The matches for the Round of 16 were scheduled to resume the next day.

With so many strong contenders advancing, intense battles continued to unfold.

The first match had been incredibly impactful, and to overshadow it, the participants pushed themselves even harder.

The International Individual Tournament was a stage to showcase one's renown and talent,

a place where everyone strove desperately to carve their names into the annals of the world.

But where there are winners, there are always losers.

Among them, two of the "Six Stars" were eliminated early on,

a testament to how fierce this main event had become.

One of those "Six Stars" was none other than Acrede Saint Narea,

the holy saint of the Holy Kingdom of Lium.

“Just as planned.”

Ahead of me, I could see the Lium Kingdom’s carriage swaying slightly as it moved forward.

Currently, I was following the saintess’s carriage with Duke of Whitewood.

The Round of 32 had been particularly unfortunate for Acrede.

Her opponent in the match was one of the top members among the "Six Stars":

Iris Hysirion,

hailed as the strongest royal of the Empire.

Even a saintess like Acrede stood no chance against Iris.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t avoid defeat.

This outcome was always the same in every timeline.

Acrede would face Iris in the Round of 32 and be eliminated.

‘Perhaps there’s someone within the Holy Church or the Mystic faction manipulating the match outcomes.’

Otherwise, it made no sense for her to always face Iris at this exact stage.

‘It must have been planned so that Acrede would return to this location at this precise time.’

I made a mental note to investigate further when the opportunity arose.

Just then, Duke of Whitewood stood up.

“They’re scattering.”

As she said, the high-ranking priests hurriedly moved away from the carriage,

as though they’d received some urgent message.

A cardinal assigned to guard the saintess approached the carriage and began conversing with her.

It was evident that he was stalling for time.

Shortly after, Duke of Whitewood raised her gaze to the sky.

Above the clear blue heavens,

unexpected flashes of light began to appear.

I immediately recognized what they were.

It was a weapon of divine origin, similar to one I possessed.

Starfall.

The stars rained down from the sky.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The entire area was engulfed in devastation.

The paladins guarding Acrede were thrown to the ground,

and the carriage she rode in was blown to pieces.

Even the cardinal responsible for her safety tumbled to the earth.

Yet, Duke of Whitewood remained motionless.

Starfall might be powerful enough to destroy a carriage,

but she had calculated that it wasn’t strong enough to kill Acrede outright.

“That shady cardinal... he pretended to protect the saintess but deliberately took the hit.”

Duke of Whitewood accurately assessed the situation.

This was nothing more than a staged act,

designed to create the appearance that they had failed to protect Acrede.

Amid the smoke produced by Starfall,

the scattered knights began to regain their senses and stood up.

But it wasn’t just smoke that filled the area;

a thick white fog had descended, obscuring visibility entirely.

Whiteout Phenomenon.

This term describes weather conditions where snow, fog, or sand makes it nearly impossible to distinguish the horizon.

One of the Mystics must have possessed a power tied to mist or fog.

“Boy.”

At that moment, Duke of Whitewood swept her cloak back and stepped forward.

“You head straight for the saintess.”

A fierce smile curved her lips, and the ferocious aura of a predator radiated from her.

“I’ll take care of every last one of the Mystics.”

There wasn’t a more reliable ally in the world.

“Yes.”

As Duke of Whitewood leapt into the mist like a wild beast,

the sounds of screams began to echo from every direction.

The Mystics had just encountered their worst nightmare.

Meanwhile, I dashed into the fog,

heading toward the direction where Acrede was supposed to be.

“Ugh!”

Just then, one of the Mystic attackers flew toward me,

tossed aside by Duke of Whitewood’s overwhelming power.

‘She’s rampaging like a force of nature.’

It was no wonder Duke of Whitewood was recognized as a living legend.

Unless their leader intervened, the Mystics stood no chance against her.

For the Mystics, this was nothing short of a catastrophe.

‘I need to focus on Acrede.’

When I reached the wreckage of the carriage to secure her,

my eyes widened in surprise.

There was no one near the shattered carriage.

Acrede, who should have been there, was nowhere to be seen.

And she wasn’t the only one missing.

‘Cardinal Centriol.’

That traitor had disappeared along with her.

My thoughts raced.

I widened my eyes slightly as realization struck.

Cardinal Centriol,

realizing the plan had gone awry, had abducted Acrede.

* * *

Elsewhere, deep in the forest...

A man in gleaming white armor was running at full speed.

Blood dripped from a wound on his forehead, but he paid it no mind.

This was Cardinal Centriol,

one of the Holy Church’s most devoted members.

Born in an orphanage run by the Holy Church,

he had risen through the ranks from inquisitor to high-ranking paladin.

He was considered one of the Holy Kingdom’s most powerful assets.

Yet today, Centriol was uncharacteristically frantic.

He carried a woman in his arms,

her white-gold hair trailing behind her with every step.

Clad in a pure white dress that symbolized chastity,

the woman was none other than Acrede Saint Narea,

the holy saint of the Holy Kingdom.

“Cardinal Centriol.”

At the sound of her voice, Centriol glanced down.

Acrede looked up at him with an expressionless face.

Acrede always wore a benevolent smile on her lips.

Her serene expression made her seem every bit the saint she was reputed to be.

However, there were rare times, like today, when her face was devoid of expression.

In those moments, it felt as though she could see straight through everything.

Cold.

Every time her emerald-green eyes met his, a sharp sting pierced a corner of his heart.

"Why did you betray the Holy Church?"

Acrede's voice rang out, devoid of any melody, cold and rigid.

It was the exact opposite of the cheerful tone she usually carried.

Centriol, who found her tone unnerving, maintained his composure and responded shamelessly.

"My Lady, I don’t understand what you mean."

"You were coerced by King Lium, weren’t you? It’s not incomprehensible, given that the power of the Lium Kingdom was on the verge of slipping away entirely. King Lium’s choice isn’t beyond understanding."

Ever since the saint had appeared,

the power dynamics of the Lium Kingdom had shifted dramatically.

The citizens of Lium exalted the saint, raising the prestige of the Holy Church.

As a result, the authority of the Lium royal family steadily diminished.

Naturally, the Lium royal family saw Acrede, the saint, as a threat to be eliminated.

Thus, her suspicions about Centriol’s intentions were not unfounded.

"My Lady, it may be true that King Lium orchestrated the ambush, but my betrayal is a separate matter entirely. Am I not here, leading you through this chaos to safety?"

As Centriol refuted her words, Acrede turned her gaze toward the forest beyond.

"Is that so? To me, that place seems safer than any other."

"Do you mean where the attackers are lurking?"

"Anywhere would be safer than by the side of Cardinal Centriol."

Her words confirmed her belief in Centriol's betrayal.

Hearing them, Centriol ground his teeth together in frustration.

"Then why did you follow me, even though you’re certain I’m a traitor?"

"Because there’s something I wanted to say to Cardinal Centriol."

Still expressionless, Acrede spoke calmly.

"The dead do not return."

Thud—

Centriol’s feet, which had been rushing forward, suddenly halted.

At the same time, he grabbed Acrede and slammed her to the ground.

Boom!

Pinned by Centriol’s grip around her throat, Acrede gazed up at him calmly.

His eyes burned with deep, unrelenting hatred.

"Cardinal Centriol, you know it, don’t you?"

Even as her throat was constricted, Acrede continued to speak.

But Centriol had no intention of calming his rage.

"I’ve believed in God my entire life."

His voice dripped with bitterness as he spoke.

The reason Centriol had become an inquisitor was his son, who was born frail and ailing.

He entrusted his son to the care of high priests, hoping to save him through their divine powers.

"I begged God thousands, no, tens of thousands of times. I prayed that my son might outlive me."

The priests continued their efforts to heal the boy, but his condition never improved.

It was no surprise.

Divine power could heal wounds and cure illnesses, but it could not alter a person’s innate frailty.

While prolonged exposure to divine power could extend a life beyond its natural span,

it could not overcome the ultimate limits of mortality.

"But God, despite all my faithfulness, did not save my son’s life."

A lifetime of dedication to the Holy Church had been insufficient to save his son.

If he had known, he would have spent more time by his son’s side,

but instead, he had wasted those moments pleading to save a life that could not be saved.

Drip—

Blood-red tears began to flow from Centriol’s eyes.

They were filled with unspeakable sorrow.

"So you would bring your dead son back to life, is that it?"

Centriol had struck a deal with King Lium.

In exchange for aiding the king, he would receive the means to resurrect his son.

"That will not bring your son peace. It will only provoke God’s wrath."

"What do you know?!"

Centriol’s grip tightened around her throat.

"My son died unjustly, never having seen the sea he so longed to see! I couldn’t even hold him when he cried out for his father! God refused to embrace even such an innocent child—what meaning could His anger possibly have?!"

"Your son has gone to God’s side. Every living thing—"

"Silence!"

Blood dripped from Centriol’s eyes onto her face.

"I will bring my son back. I will give him the life he never had, filled with all he could desire."

Centriol’s rampage had gone far beyond the point of no return.

"All I need to do is kill you."

His grip tightened further.

Even as she struggled for breath, Acrede simply stared at him.

That calm, unwavering gaze unsettled Centriol more than anything else.

"Do you think you’ll accomplish anything?"

Just then, a voice rang in his ears.

Consumed by rage, Centriol had failed to notice his surroundings.

When he looked up, a fist was already flying toward him.

Smack!

A sharp pain exploded across his face, snapping his head back.

But as a cardinal bestowed with the title of paladin, Centriol was not someone to be taken down by mere punches.

Just as he steadied himself and prepared to counterattack,

he realized his face wouldn’t move.

His face had been frozen solid by a chilling frost.

By the time he registered this, it was too late.

Another fist had already connected with his face.

If once wasn’t enough, then twice.

Crunch!

The second blow shattered the ice and sent Centriol sprawling to the ground.

Standing before him was a young man with black hair who had just landed.

"Feel free to go wild trying to completely ruin your son's future lives."

Hannon Irey had arrived.