Rose's footsteps were calm, as if she were strolling down the street rather than walking forward to face a powerful opponent in a battle of life and death.
From that demeanor, everyone watching could feel an absolute confidence radiating from her.
Seeing this, Bishop Draven tightened his grip on the radiant golden hammer in his hands. His opponent's confidence was nothing less than contempt directed at him.
Having witnessed the strength of the two white-haired girls, Draven quickly understood that on his own, he would hardly be a match for Rose, the leader of the trio.
Yet, bearing the blessing and protection of the divine, Draven could not allow anyone to look down on him, for that would be nothing short of an insult to the great and mighty Solvaris.
Draven: "You will pay for that attitude."
He was determined to deliver fitting punishment to the heretics who chose to become enemies of the Church of Light, even if it cost him his life.
Rose: "What attitude? You clergy types always overreact and are impossible to please."
Looking at Draven, Rose voiced her complaint, then continued:
Rose: "Why don't you take advantage of that blessing you're carrying and lead your people away? Isn't choosing a peaceful path, each going their own way, better? Why risk your life pointlessly instead of prioritizing survival?"
To Tris, those words sounded more like mockery and provocation than persuasion. And unsurprisingly, Draven had no intention of following such advice.
Draven: "Your hands are already stained with the blood of our people. Against heretics like you, we will never retreat or make concessions."
Rose: "You were the ones who attacked us first, and now you complain when you get killed. Truly shameless.
But is it truly the case that all of you share the same resolve to fight to the death and have no intention of fleeing? Can you alone represent and decide the fate of those behind you? Perhaps some of them secretly wish to leave."
Hearing these words, the holy knights and priests of the Church of Light erupted in outrage:
"Do not underestimate us."
"We will not retreat before the enemies of the Church."
"Fight to the end."
"There are no cowards among holy knights."
Upon hearing these firm declarations, Draven smiled with satisfaction.
Draven: "You see now. That is the difference between you heretics and us."
What Draven did not expect was that Rose herself was also amused by their words. She laughed and said:
Rose: "Remember those words well. If anyone dares to turn their back and run later, they'll be branded traitors to the Church of Light. Don't worry—if such a person exists, I'll gladly help you purge them."
Tris: 'Ah, the people of the Church of Light are truly unfortunate.'
Realizing what Rose was doing, Tris spared a moment of silent condolence for them.
At that moment, Rose turned to Tris and asked:
Rose: "To face an opponent with such an abundant reserve of spiritual energy, what must be done?"
Tris: "Naturally, avoid being dragged into a prolonged battle. Defeat and finish the opponent as quickly as possible."
Though he didn't understand why Rose suddenly asked this, he still chose to answer.
Rose: "'Divine blessing', it's a good thing. But it's only like a plentiful water supply. It cannot make a pipe larger, nor allow more water to flow through than the pipe's capacity at any given moment.
In other words, it cannot enable the user to unleash spiritual energy beyond their own limits all at once."
Hearing this, Tris realized he was being given a clearer explanation of the technique used by the man wielding the massive hammer.
He carefully committed it to memory. His instincts told him it was important, otherwise Rose would not have emphasized it.
After briefly describing 'Divine blessing', Rose said no more.
Both Tris and Draven sensed the sudden shift. They understood the battle was about to begin.
Without waiting for his opponent, Draven struck first.
He seemed to transform into a beam of light, rushing straight toward her.
The hammer in his hands rose high and came crashing down, aimed directly at the slender figure before him without hesitation.
From beneath Rose's feet, a torrent of thick, crimson liquid surged forth, enveloping her and surging toward Draven as he charged.
The stream quickly shaped itself into a massive arm.
When Draven's hammer struck, the impact exploded violently, shattering the arm's form into countless streams of liquid that splashed back, continuing to swirl protectively around Rose.
Draven himself was forced backward by the shockwave.
As soon as his feet found solid ground again, he saw that the crimson flood was still pouring forth, growing at an alarming rate. The air around them thickened with the stench of fresh blood, revealing the true nature of the red liquid.
Draven: "Filthy heresy."
Roaring in fury, he raised his great hammer high. A magic circle appeared in the air above Rose's head.
When Draven swung the hammer forward, a massive beam of light descended, as if to burn away the crimson flood and its master.
And yet, even that blazing light could not erase the red torrent.
The torrent's surge was overwhelming, rising higher and higher until it engulfed even the beam of light descending upon it.
5 meters, then 10, then 15. Even the circular magic formation suspended in midair was stained crimson by the surging torrent, scoured relentlessly before being torn apart and destroyed.
Before everyone's eyes, the massive flood quickly reshaped itself into a towering form. It became a crimson giant nearly twenty meters tall.
Six arms protruded from its body, two at the shoulders and four from its back, resembling the spider-like limbs carried by the two white-haired girls.
The giant slammed its fist down upon the ground, not toward Draven, but toward his subordinates.
Roaring with fury, Draven realized he had lost the option of evasion. If he wished to protect the others, he had no choice but to confront the giant head-on.
His entire body transformed into an arrow of light, shooting straight toward the descending fist, as if to pierce not only the giant's arm but its very being.
The arm shattered under the golden radiance. Yet immediately, a second arm struck down upon the arrow of light, while the first arm already began to regenerate.
When the second was destroyed, another followed, unleashing its blow.
One after another, the giant's arms hammered down relentlessly, drowning the arrow of light in waves of crimson. Soon, the arrow could no longer ascend—it was forced back down to the earth.
Each time an arm was torn apart, another replaced it, while the destroyed limb swiftly regenerated. The cycle repeated endlessly, the giant's fists pounding like a soulless machine.
Before long, the golden light on the ground grew weaker and weaker until it vanished completely.
And even when no trace of light remained, the giant's fists continued to fall without pause, as though intent on breaking through the very earth beneath it.