Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 434: Chapter 89: Wind, Thunder, Water

In Noe VII’s gray eyes, it was as if a vision of a future Hell, unimaginably more terrifying than the current tragic state of the Holy City, was reflected.

His voice suddenly rose.

"They are not ordinary Wizards! They are the lingering echoes of an ancient calamity, monsters who have obtained a portion of the ’Legacy’ and are about to ascend to the next stage! Their very life-forms and purpose are evolving toward pure ’destruction’ and ’assimilation’! To contain them here, to delay or even stop this, is my duty. More than that, it is the only choice, paid for with the blood of our ancestors! The Holy City’s sacrifice... is an unavoidable part of that great price. To sacrifice some to prevent a wider, more absolute annihilation—that is reality!"

CLANG!

The mechanical behemoth threw another punch. Noe VII crossed his hands to block, and the brilliant golden light clashed violently with the cold, metallic fist. A deafening roar erupted as an invisible shockwave tore a massive rift in the sea of clouds.

"Duty? Choice? Reality?" Margaret’s voice rang out. "Noe VII, Holy Throne, your devotion to duty is admirable. But have you ever considered why the balance was broken at this very moment? Why the ringing of the Holy Bell and the coronation of Ete I became the straw that broke the camel’s back?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the increasingly shrill sounds of the storm and the screams from the world outside.

"Because those people outside are scrambling to consolidate their power and reshape the order. That force in itself is violently disrupting the world. You are like an ancient, sturdy dam, trying to hold back the tide of ’calamity.’ But when the water level upstream rises uncontrollably for man-made reasons, the dam’s very existence becomes a liability, increasing the risk of it bursting. You aren’t just holding back the calamity; you are the ’cause’ that allows the pressure to build until it must inevitably erupt. The tragedy outside, the stalemate in here... all are the fruits of this imbalance."

"So, step aside," Othilia continued, her pure white skirt whipping in the energy storm. "The old dam is already cracked and destined to collapse. Rather than letting it drag countless innocents down with it, it’s better we shatter it ourselves! Let the necessary blood be shed, let destruction run its course. Only upon the ruins is true rebirth possible!"

"I will not yield." Noe VII’s reply was just those four words, yet it was more resolute than ever before.

...

As destruction raged and despair spread, a figure huddled against a cold, damp stone wall amidst the rubble on the outskirts of the square, panting heavily.

It was Bellardi.

He had been lucky enough to avoid being swept away by the flood, and he hadn’t been directly exposed to the Withering Wind or the lightning.

His tattered cloak was soaked through, clinging to his body and chilling him so much that his teeth chattered.

But his clouded eyes were fixed on the distant altar, his face a mask of lingering fear mixed with a twisted, almost ecstatic expression.

He had seen it.

He had seen the high-and-mighty Cardinals scrambling helplessly under the combined assault of wind, thunder, and water. He had seen that old fool Adrian screaming himself hoarse. He had seen the milky-white wall of Holy Light crack, and he had seen the breathtakingly beautiful Saint fall into mortal danger.

"Hahaha... Fight! Keep fighting!" he muttered hysterically, a grin stretching uncontrollably across his lips to reveal uneven, yellow teeth. ’Some Pope, some Cardinals, some Saint... Before true power, they’re nothing but dogs with their tails between their legs! Serves them right! Serves them right for fighting over power! Serves them right for tossing me aside like trash! You see what you’re up against now, don’t you? It’d be best if you all just died...’

As he reveled in this perverse glee, the mud-stained stone slabs under his feet suddenly softened without warning.

"Huh?" Bellardi froze. He tried to lift his foot, only to find both feet held fast as if by an unseen mire. A cold, viscous sensation instantly enveloped his ankles and began to creep rapidly upward!

He looked down in terror and saw the stone and mud beneath his feet writhing as if alive. Their color deepened to a dark, nearly black brown, and they gave off the damp, loamy scent of earth.

"Hel—" He had barely begun to cry for help when the writhing "earth" suddenly surged, swallowing him whole like a swamp monster with a gaping maw!

Not a single trace was left behind, as if he had never been there at all.

A few seconds later, a dozen yards away in an inconspicuous, shadowy corner, the stone ground bulged upward again without a sound.

A humanoid silhouette slowly "grew" from the earth.

It was still wearing Bellardi’s tattered, mud-caked clothes.

But when the figure stood steady and raised its head, though the face still had Bellardi’s features, the eyes were utterly different.

The previous cloudiness, fear, and twisted excitement had all vanished. In their place was a bottomless calm. Deep within the pupils, it was as if miniature landscapes of mountains and earth slowly turned, carrying an indifference settled over countless eons.

"Bellardi’s" calm gaze swept over the chaotic, intense battlefield in the distance.

The combined seal of Ete I and the Great Shepherd Leader was locked in a stalemate against the power of the three Wizards. A violent collision of lights—milky-white, deep blue, dark green, azure, and cerulean—flashed across the sky. The turbulent currents of Energy made the Holy City itself seem to groan.

The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, the ghost of a cold sneer. He then ignored the seemingly white-hot battle high above, turning his gaze instead to the crestfallen, pure-white figure at the edge of the altar.