The Pope's face drained of what little color it had left. The elders behind him gasped, some of them nearly falling back into the dirt.
To hear that the source of a thousand years of abyssal terror was not a mere demon, but a primordial creator god—and that he was currently being carted around on a northern stallion—completely shattered every theological doctrine they had spent their lives rewriting.
"He… he has ceased his malice?" the Pope stammered, looking toward Julian. "He will no longer create demons."
"The Saint has testified to that and so has our god," Nadic affirmed flatly, his voice echoing with a deep, weary reverence. "He has sworn an oath. The war… is over."
Hearing the conversation from his saddle, Alaric gritted his teeth and steered his stallion closer to Julian's mount.
