“—Let there be light.”

  BOOM!!!

  Heaven and earth roared. The void shattered.

  In that instant, it was no longer thunder, no longer collapse, no longer a surge of magic—

  It was the fire of faith, the flame known as miracle—

  roaring to life.

  Crack—!

  Space split apart, black fractures spreading across the sky like a spider’s web.

  It was as if the very veil of the heavens had been torn open, revealing the bottomless void beyond.

  And from the very depths of that darkness—Light appeared.

  First, a single strand—like a needle piercing the night.

  Then, a second—like a spear cleaving through the sky.

  And then—ten thousand divine rays erupted all at once!

  RUMMMMMMBLE!!!

  Light—descended.

  Light, like a collapsed heavenly river—pouring down in waves.

  Light, like a blazing sun wheel crashing from the sky—blazing and absolute.

  Light, like the moment a god opens His eyes—sweeping across the land with judgment and divine command.

  This was not a gentle light. Not a comforting one.

  This was—divine wrath.

  It was sacred, searing, and utterly untouchable.

  It carried the absolute will to deny the existence of darkness.

  It could not be dodged.

  It could not be resisted.

  It could not be defiled.

  Light—tore through the darkness.

  Light—shattered all falsehoods.

  Light—cast all things under the holy weight of judgment.

  It had no voice, yet it thundered louder than legions of war.

  It had no form, yet it cut sharper than a thousand blades.

  It had no heat, yet it scorched the soul.

  And in the next instant, the entire battlefield—became a tribunal of divine light.

  Every crater, scorched patch, crack, and bloodstain was bathed in its brilliance.

  Every trace of killing intent, curse, death, and fury was suppressed under its radiance.

  In that moment, even time itself seemed to lose the right to move forward.

  —The world stood still.

  —God said, Let there be light.

  And so, the light descended.

  That single sentence, so utterly simple, made the heavens bow and space collapse.

  It wasn’t a burst of light—it was the fulfillment of divine will.

  As if the world itself, from the moment of its creation,

  had been waiting for this very proclamation to be spoken.

  As if all laws, all energy, all principles of existence—

  surrendered in that instant.

  And in that moment, everyone on the battlefield—

  regardless of faith, race, allegiance, or strength—

  stood exposed beneath this light of judgment,

  no different from ants under the gaze of a god.

  Even the leader—

  those ever-steady, ever-confident eyes of his—

  began to grow solemn.

  The blade in his hand—

  the cursed saber that had drunk the souls of thousands, seething with boundless killing intent—

  paused, ever so slightly in the sea of white light.

  His killing intent faltered.

  His blade aura—suppressed.

  But then—

  “Clang—!”

  The blade was fully drawn!

  Killing intent burst forth in an instant, colliding head-on with that sacred radiance!

  He merged his internal energy, spirit, and will with the blade’s killing intent,

  forging them into a shield that surged outward—

  —gently enveloping every one of his comrades on the battlefield.

  The wind still blew.

  The light still pressed down.

  The killing intent still roared—

  Yet not a single black-clad figure was harmed.

  In that moment, everyone understood:

  He didn’t draw his blade to kill the enemy, but to—protect the people behind him.

  And at the very moment that light descended—the entire world suddenly lost its grip on reality.

  It wasn’t just a flash of white before their eyes—

  It was that everyone—

  the six black-clad figures, the five knights, the two mages, even beings as powerful as the BOSS and the leader himself—

  Lost their vision.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Lost their hearing.

  Touch and smell—gone.

  And worse—

  The ordinary soldiers at the edge of the battlefield, those low-ranked Transcendents who had not joined the fight,

  —they lost the ability to think entirely.

  They couldn’t even comprehend fear or death.

  Meanwhile, the corpses left on the battlefield, under the radiance of that holy light—

  began to disintegrate rapidly into particles.

  No flames.

  No scorch marks.

  No signs of any physical damage whatsoever.

  Their bodies, their equipment, their blood—

  even the very traces of their existence—

  silently collapsed, scattered, and vanished in that irresistible brilliance.

  The shattered particles drifted like ash, like fog, like motes of dust,

  carried by the current of light, dissolving into the void.

  In the end, not even ashes remained.

  As if they had never fought, never bled on this land—

  as if they had never existed.

  In their place—

  strips of pure, white emptiness,

  quietly imprinted onto the scorched earth and the torn air,

  like someone had taken a divine brush and painted streaks of perfect void across the blood and dust.

  No trace of death. No echo of life.

  No emotion. No resistance.

  It was judgment—cast upon all existence.

  Amid the divine light that illuminated heaven and earth,

  beneath the priest’s feet—

  that aged, weathered rooftop finally… collapsed.

  BOOM—!!

  It wasn’t an explosion.

  It wasn’t a shockwave.

  It was the rooftop shattering, inch by inch,

  crumbling completely under the invisible pressure of divinity.

  Bricks burst apart. Wooden beams splintered.

  Debris scattered like a sudden downpour,

  rising in reverse as smoke and radiant fragments surged skyward.

  But at the very center of the collapse, the priest stood unmoved.

  As the rooftop fell away beneath him, he remained upright atop the flying debris—

  like a saint descending to the mortal world, standing tall against the light.

  His robes billowed in the divine wind,

  sacred brilliance coiling around him,

  as light and flame traced the silhouette of a figure proud and unyielding.

  The very fabric of the battlefield crumbled behind him.

  Dust roared beneath him.

  And the blazing fire of miracle—

  —burst forth from within him, from his very faith.

  His belief was not a faint light offered in prayer,

  but a blazing solar corona erupting from the depths of his soul!

  He was not casting a miracle.

  He was not channeling divine power.

  He—

  was the miracle.

  The light stripped away color, stole away sound—

  Even the air itself seemed to lose the right to move.

  Sight, hearing, touch, smell—all severed.

  Even thought felt frozen deep within the holy radiance.

  —But that applied only to the mortal.

  On this battlefield, those still standing were all—Transcendents.

  Within their bodies, every nerve, every muscle, every corner of their soul was burning, thundering with power.

  A Transcendent’s true eyes and ears had never relied on the flesh.

  They relied on—Transcendent Intuition, on Transcendent Radar.

  Amid the endless holy light, San Niang and Xianzi Lin still plucked their strings.

  Sound blades danced and weaved through the brilliance,

  and though all was deathly silent, the killing intent only grew more cutting.

  Each arc of sound slashed through the void,

  as if composing a silent requiem of death.

  Meanwhile, Da Niu and Er Gou—still as solid as stone.

  Like twin towers in the heart of a storm, they stood unmoving, guarding the front lines.

  On the other side of the battlefield, the two black-clad figures advanced instead of retreating—moving straight into the light!

  The holy light burst against them, dazzling and searing,

  yet it could not extinguish the killing intent and belief burning in their eyes.

  Murderous aura like black ink thickened within the white glow, growing all the more intense.

  And what wrapped around them—

  was a shield of killing intent ignited by the cursed blade.

  It was neither steel nor crystal, not quite a shield and nothing like armor.

  It did not shine, nor did it weigh.

  It moved like wind, like mist, like shadow, like a cold current—

  silently flowing around them,

  like starlight trickling through the night,

  or the River Styx lying still before the gates of hell.

  It did not block light, yet smothered all malice.

  It made no sound, yet held more threat than a thousand armies.

  It wasn’t a shield.

  It was—an extension of the leader’s will.

  His spirit, inner force, and killing intent, fused into one, forming a domain of pure pressure.

  At the front line of a battlefield drowned in apocalyptic holy light,

  only this shield of darkness silently protected—

  the ones he chose to protect.

  And the leader was still fighting—

  alone against three, without yielding an inch.

  The three knights charged forward with a roar,

  blurring into shards of light and shadow beneath the holy glow—

  their assault not fading, but growing even fiercer.

  Their will had not been devoured by the divine light.

  On the contrary—it was exalted within that baptism of holiness.

  On the mental level, they were awakened by divine revelation—thoughts flashing like lightning.

  On the spiritual level, their souls blazed like sacred fire—each strike a fusion of faith and fury.

  On the physical level, they surpassed the limits of flesh—every muscle erupting with peak power!

  Their swords were no longer mere weapons—

  They had become surging torrents of holy judgment!

  Each swing was followed by booming radiance,

  as if synchronized with the will of apocalypse itself, gathering into “divine retribution.”

  The golden-haired knight shimmered like thunder,

  his blade twisting—lightning tearing the sky!

  The red-haired knight leapt and struck down—flames cleaving the void like a blazing sun falling to earth!

  The black-haired knight roared and swept wide—afterimages surged in all directions like meteors shattering the heavens!

  And in this domain where divinity and killing intent intertwined—

  light was no longer suppression, no longer a trial,

  but—a coronation of battle itself!

  Their souls were burning, their wills surging like a storm!

  On this indescribable battlefield of gods and demons—

  they would fight that man, for real.

  However, off in the distance, the expressions of the two mages were unusually complex.

  They stood within the holy light, cloaked in divine radiance—yet not a trace of exhilaration showed on their faces.

  What they wore instead was a quiet, restrained solemnity—bordering on indifference.

  As if something unseen and heavy pressed upon their hearts, making it hard to breathe.

  The stronger the priest became, the brighter the light blazed—

  the deeper their eyes grew, and the more solemn their expressions became.

  This radiance was undoubtedly sacred, a manifestation of miracle itself.

  But what it carried—was not the path they had chosen.

  They had never denied the power of divine miracles.

  In fact, the two of them were believers—once softly reciting prayers during morning devotions.

  Even now, when they looked up at the stars, they still let themselves be enveloped in the Divine’s compassion.

  That faith was a refuge for the heart, not the entirety of their lives.

  So when the light descended and all creation fell silent—

  they only stood there quietly, gazing into it.

  Their hearts were heavy, complicated—

  yet they said not a single word.

  And in the distance, the BOSS still remained unmoved.

  Even as the sacred radiance poured down like a waterfall, even as the entire battlefield was consumed by divine will.

  He remained as calm as a mountain, his steps unchanged, his breath steady.

  Light, indeed, was terrifying.

  So powerful it could suffocate the weak, even causing some of the strong to slow their breathing.

  But for the leader—it wasn’t even close.

  At this moment, his Transcendent radar was fully activated, his perception spreading like a domain, impermeable.

  Even though the battlefield was bathed in divine light—

  Every shift of energy, every fluctuation of mental waves, every ripple of soul information,

  was as clear as a brand, not a single detail overlooked.

  And his Transcendent Intuition was like a critical blade suspended above his nerves, piercing every sensory node in his soul.

  It didn’t need analysis. It didn’t need logic.

  —It simply told him the answer.

  Even if nothing had happened yet—he’d still know.

  —Someone was about to make a move.

  This wasn’t predicting the future.

  It was—completely not logical.

  So, at this moment, forget about taking action—

  even if a mere trace of killing intent stirs within the BOSS,

  the leader would immediately—detect and lock onto him!

  Not out of fear, nor hesitation, but—he was waiting.

  He was waiting for that deeper gap, that truly fatal—flaw.

  It wasn't until the third second—that light finally began to fade.

  It was as if an invisible giant hand descended from the heavens, gently sweeping away the last trace of holy light from the world.

  The night quietly enveloped the earth, and the world was once again bathed in color;

  the air began to move, and the sounds of the world returned.

  The golden Buddha's palm, once suspended in the sky, was now nowhere to be found.

  The priest stood amid the ruins, dust swirling around him, with the last remnants of light still clinging to his form;

  it was as if he had stepped out of divine judgment, becoming the embodiment of light and faith.

  And that light—was not indiscriminate destruction.

  It had choice, it had will;

  it was enacting divine judgment, not executing a death sentence.

  The soldiers at the edge of the battlefield and the officers who had not participated in the battle were not reduced to ashes.

  Instead, they felt an unprecedented power.

  Warm, holy, it quietly flowed into their bodies, like a spring breeze caressing their faces, as if the divine itself had gently touched them.

  Wounds on their skin healed, their strength returned, and deep within their souls, it was as if a light had quietly ignited.

  They stared blankly at the scorched earth—

  at the figure that still stood tall, their gaze shifting from confusion to reverence,

  and then from reverence, slowly turning into—fervor.

  Something was burning in their chests.

  It wasn’t emotion, but—the fire of faith.

  The belief that naturally rose from deep within their souls after witnessing the miracle.

  —Silent, yet as intense as the sun itself.

  The burning flames seemed to ignite the very air of the battlefield.

  Elo watched this scene unfold.

  He watched the soldiers, their eyes wild with fervor, as if they had truly witnessed a deity descend.

  And for some reason, a thought suddenly arose in his mind:

  —In a situation like this, how the hell are we supposed to start a revolution?

  —Forget it—there’s no way a revolution is ever happening here.