Chapter 402

Mist Knight Training Camp, underground Shi Shi.

Few know that dozens of meters beneath the usual training grounds of the Holy Knights and Wu Seng lies a special Shi Shi.

In this sunless depth, a unique battle armor lies quietly hidden in secrecy.

Beneath the starlight stones embedded in the Shi Shi's ceiling, a faint cold glow dyed Zoyla's brown hair in two tones.

The muscular female knight knelt on the cold stone slab; with just a slight lift of her head, she could clearly see the Holy Armor five steps away.

Though called "Holy Armor," its current appearance bears little resemblance to the name.

The once-shimmering mithril patterns now gathered like dying fireflies into a weak glow on the armor's chest.

Without this faint residual light, it would long ago have been discarded as worthless trash.

"... Gul."

Zoyla gazed at the armor with deep reverence, a flicker of excitement and longing in her eyes as she mentally replayed the armor's origins.

The Angel's Battle Armor.

It is an epic armor from a Warring Angel!

As a loyal believer of the Sun God, she held intense reverence and longing for this lost armor.

She desperately wished to become its next wearer.

The reason she called it "wearer" rather than "master" was because this armor was no ordinary magical artifact—it was a "living being" with its own independent consciousness.

Only those granted its approval could wear it and receive its protection.

Others not recognized could not even approach it, just as she now could only watch from afar.

Those rejected by it didn't just keep their distance—they were actively attacked!

Zoyla's current position, five meters from the armor, already indicated slight recognition.

At least the armor's spirit did not dislike her.

With a little more time, Zoyla might truly touch it and become the next lucky one.

"... Cough, cough."

At that moment, a weary cough echoed from behind, interrupting Zoyla's reverie and shifting her expression.

Zoyla didn't need to turn around—she knew the stubborn old man knelt five meters behind her.

The Shi Shi was not occupied by Zoyla alone; there was another candidate.

The old knight, Morthen.

This knight, eight times her age, was also striving to gain the armor's recognition.

Most monks in the monastery knew nothing of the Angel's Battle Armor, but for high-tier Holy Knights like them, it was no secret.

Any Holy Knight who applied could attempt to communicate with the armor, seeking to establish a connection.

But due to the extreme conditions, the monastery had not seen a true recognized wearer in a long time.

Most were legendary-level monks who forcibly borrowed its power after communication, not truly recognized.

In a sense, Zoyla and the other were competitors.

But Zoyla felt no panic.

Because she knew—he was no match for her!

Though this might sound excessive, he was merely a rustic knight born and raised in the countryside, while she was an elite from the Radiant Shengcheng of Solanthis.

The Mist Monastery did not reject outside monks.

The monastery's monks were divided into three groups.

One group was trained internally, mostly orphans or commoners rescued by monks.

Another group came from outside for various reasons—like Herbert, who was "exiled" here and eventually stayed as a monk.

A third group came from other monasteries or divine churches.

They were the smallest portion, mostly visiting for short- or long-term training before leaving after their cultivation ended.

Zoyla was such a monk.

As a talented prodigy among the younger generation of the Sun Church, she came to the Mist Monastery at age twenty-two, aiming to gain the lost Angel's Battle Armor's recognition.

As a believer raised since childhood under the Church's care, bathed in the Sun God's radiance, Zoyla was certain of her advantage—her affinity with the armor's spirit was far greater than his.

Their current positions already revealed something.

Zoyla had entered the Shi Shi much later than Morthen, yet her progress was already higher.

Five meters versus ten meters.

Correct.

Advantage is mine!

In contrast to Zoyla's confidence, the old knight appeared remarkably calm.

Despite being at a disadvantage, Morthen still did not give up—he knelt on one knee, praying without pride or impatience, occasionally moving forward a small distance.

He ignored the other young man in the room, entirely focused on his own rhythm.

Morthen was not unaware of Zoyla's thoughts; he even held a measure of admiration.

Young knights were proud, combative, confident—this was not bad; youth should have the nature of youth.

If a young man lacked arrogance, was he truly young?

But the two-hundred-year-old knight had seen too much—he had lost that sharp edge and no longer needed to display his brilliance.

Morthen's body was covered in scars, large and small, his left eye blinded by a piercing wound, making him look especially fearsome.

In this world, there was no such thing as true permanent injury; with sufficient cost, one could restore themselves to peak condition.

The Mist Monastery had no shortage of high-tier priests who could heal his wounds without cost.

But Morthen refused all help, insisting on keeping his injuries.

In his youth, he had an almost fanatical obsession with enhancing his strength, believing that only by leaving these scars could he better aid his own advancement.

Though now he had abandoned his intense fixation on strengthening himself, he still had not healed his wounds.

The old knight had long grown accustomed to these scars.

He was now more like a greatsword whose blade had been dulled through countless brutal battles.

A greatsword without edge, true mastery requires no artifice.

So, was Morton truly at a complete disadvantage right now?

Though Zoyla might refuse to accept it, the truth… was not so.

If Morton wished, he could have reached Zoyla's current position long ago—even moved ahead of her.

Yet the old knight continued advancing at his own pace, step by slow step, unwilling to disturb the Armor Spirit.

Indeed, he may well have been waiting for the young one to surpass him.

Morton had been waiting all along.

If Zoyla succeeded in gaining the Armor Spirit's recognition, he would willingly step aside, perfectly "one move behind."

This was not deliberate leniency—merely an old man's guidance toward the younger generation.

Morton had no blood relatives; but had he not become a knight, had he not joined the monastery as a monk, his great-great-great-granddaughter might well be Zoyla's age.

Hmm… he simply loved caring for the young.

If no other surprises arose, the duel between them would continue thus until one emerged victorious.

Alas, heaven did not grant his wish.

Just as Zoyla stood one step away from success, a change occurred.

The armor, which had remained silent and indifferent to their approach, suddenly trembled.

Then, the once-ancient armor burst forth with blinding light!

Hum—

The sudden, unexpected change stunned Zoyla; she snapped her head up, staring at the armor.

"Hnn!!?"

What happened?

After the initial shock, she quickly grew ecstatic.

The Angel Armor had reacted—that meant the Armor Spirit had fully awakened.

!!!

Could this change have been caused by my having taken one more step just now?

No, don't get excited!

Zoyla clenched her fists tightly, barely restraining the urge to rise and step forward.

"... Guh."

She remained kneeling on one knee, head raised, eyes blazing as she fixed them on the armor.

The young woman was ecstatic, believing she had finally earned the Armor Spirit's recognition.

On the other side, the old man's expression subtly shifted—he sensed something unusual about this situation.

"This… what's happening?"

Zoyla was ecstatic, but behind her, Morton saw clearly.

The Armor Spirit's awakening had not occurred immediately after Zoyla stepped forward—it had changed only one or two seconds later.

The old knight remembered the Armor Spirit's reaction: it had not awakened, but been stirred by someone else.

The last time the Armor Spirit was stirred was three years ago—by a young knight named "Lord Fa Ao."

Yet that young man, after drawing the Armor Spirit's attention, made no attempt to forge a deeper bond with it.

Lord Fa Ao believed his strength still too weak; if he accepted the armor's protection, he would lose all sense of mortal peril, and his power would struggle to improve significantly.

In the end, he abandoned this rare opportunity, choosing instead to continue honing himself, waiting until his strength was sufficient to try again.

Morton fully agreed with Lord Fa Ao's viewpoint—he had once held similar thoughts, though he had taken them to an even more extreme path: choosing the most dangerous fighting style.

Morton never wore armor—not even heavy plate, not even leather.

He fought purely by trading blows for blows, blood for blood.

Perhaps because of this habit, the Armor Spirit had never taken special interest in him.

Not resistant, but not fond either.

Yet now, the Angel Armor suddenly erupted with a reaction far more intense than when Lord Fa Ao had stirred it.

Hummm!

In the center of Shi Shi, the armor now shook violently, its aura gradually shifting.

Twice as strong?

No, the intensity of this reaction was surely over tenfold!

Morton pondered, wondering what kind of person could provoke such a fierce response from the armor.

"This is…"

A bold thought flashed through his mind.

Could it be that Lord Fa Ao's strength had finally entered the Legendary realm?

Ahead, Zoyla waited a moment, then could no longer hold back—she rose excitedly, stepping forward.

"Armor Lord, I… hnn!!?"

The moment she took a step, a force flung her backward; she staggered several paces and came to a stop before Morton.

"This is…"

At this moment, Zoyla also realized something was wrong—the situation didn't match her expectations.

Could it be… the Armor Spirit was expecting someone else?

"It's you?!"

Zoyla whirled around, staring at the silent old knight—but received no response.

At this moment, the old knight had turned his head toward the entrance of the Shi Shi.

Noticing Zoyla's gaze, he asked in a low voice: "Child, did you hear that?"

"Hear what? I didn't hear anything… hmm?"

Zoyla's expression changed as she too caught the faint sound: "Is that… footsteps? Someone's coming?"

Upon hearing this, Morthen's expression didn't relax—it tightened further.

Yes, someone really was coming.

That wasn't unusual; it wasn't exclusive to the two of them—others had the right to come too.

But the problem was… Morthen heard the footsteps drawing nearer, yet strangely felt no aura at all.

An unknown presence was slowly approaching.

If Zoyla hadn't heard the sound too, he might have doubted whether he was hallucinating.

And as the footsteps grew closer, Morthen's unease deepened, his muscles tensing gradually.

His wounds began to throb faintly—this was an instinct honed by years of battle.

He couldn't determine if the newcomer was friend or foe, but one thing was certain… the person was extremely dangerous!

The intruder was undoubtedly a Legendary-level powerhouse.

And not just any Legendary.

Though Morthen's official rank was only High Tier, his vast experience had earned him repeated invitations to join Legendary squads, having hunted down several Legendary foes.

He had seen more than enough Legendaries in his lifetime.

This unknown arrival was likely among the most dangerous of all the Legendaries he'd ever encountered.

A thought flashed through Morthen's mind.

"This feeling… could it be a Transcendent?"

After a moment's thought, Morthen slowly nodded.

Yes, it must be exactly that.

Of all the Legendaries he'd ever met, only one—after undergoing the Transcendence Ritual—had ever given him this kind of pressure.

Though Zoyla didn't feel a strong sense of danger, Morthen's silence made her tense, and she instinctively placed her hand on the hilt of her sword.

The two stood side by side, rigidly prepared, watching the door of the Shi Shi.

Still, though tense, they weren't truly alarmed.

Don't forget—this was the Mist Monastery. The newcomer was most likely an ally, not an enemy.

"… "

Even though they knew this logically, the growing clarity of the footsteps pressed heavier upon them.

Tap… tap… tap…

At some point, they seemed to hear a strong, rhythmic pounding beside their ears— their own heartbeats.

That heartbeat seemed to sync with the footsteps, each step landing like a blow upon their chests.

At this moment, the two Holy Knights' differing reactions revealed their contrasting personalities.

Zoyla's grip on her sword hilt tightened, yet her expression grew calmer.

Morthen's heartbeat slowed, yet his face grew more grim, the eye blinded by the blade faintly glowing.

Tap-tap-tap… tap.

As they waited tensely, the footsteps halted before the door, and the figure outside politely tapped twice.

Thump… thump.

Two knocks, like strikes against the heart, froze the air inside the Shi Shi.

When no answer came, the figure outside said nothing, and slowly pushed the door open.

Creak…

And as the door began to open, the first to react in the entire Shi Shi was not Morthen or Zoyla.

The first—and most violently reactive—was the Angelic Battle Armor at the center of the chamber.

Hum!!!

The Angelic Battle Armor, which had shown no interest in the two Holy Knights moments before, suddenly shot off its pedestal and lunged toward the figure entering through the door.

The armor moved with blinding speed, catching the newcomer completely off guard.

"Huh? What's that?"

Without hesitation, the newcomer raised a hand and slapped the armor's helmet hard.

Whoosh—smack!

"Ambush?"

With a confused grunt, the Angelic Battle Armor flew backward faster than it had charged forward.

Whoosh—crash!!

In Zoyla's stunned gaze, the armor she had longed for so desperately was casually swatted aside by the unfamiliar boy, crashing against the wall and scattering into pieces across the floor.

???

Zoyla could no longer maintain her tense expression—her mouth hung wide open.

…Huh?

At this moment, she didn't even have time to ask who the intruder was.

She merely stared intently at the angelic battle armor scattered on the ground, still trembling, trying to reassemble itself and charge forward again.

Is this… right?

It was like a lapdog watching the goddess he adored, who always ignored him, throw herself into another's arms—only to be rejected and shoved into a puddle.

For a moment, he didn't know whether to feel sorrow or joy.

The joy was that someone else didn't want his goddess.

The sorrow was that even though others rejected her, she still didn't want him—the lapdog.

"Trying to ambush me?"

After knocking back the attacker upon entering, Herbert shook his palm and snorted, "Go train some more."

He glanced at the scattered angelic battle armor and sneered.

Is this it?

This thing doesn't even look like anything valuable.

Under Ophidia's persuasion, Herbert eventually accepted the task of slipping through the Sun Church.

He then decisively went to inquire further details from Bishop Rustnail, striving to perfect every aspect.

Since it's come to this, then go ahead.

Since there's no way to escape, might as well enjoy it.

After all, Nie Nasha had already assured him he wouldn't be discovered; even if something went wrong, it wasn't his fault.

As long as the greatest secret wasn't exposed, this trip would be beneficial with no harm.

After all, Herbert was only going to lend support—not to actually fight.

As long as he kept a low profile, stayed quiet in action, and didn't draw the Nieyu Sect's attention, nothing major would happen.

Hmm… probably.

Although Herbert faintly sensed things were unlikely to unfold as he hoped, he still decided to pretend he felt nothing.

After questioning Bishop Rustnail, Herbert strolled leisurely to this Shi Shi, ready to retrieve the angelic battle armor.

But the moment he stepped inside, he was—ambushed!

Though he quickly realized the "assassin" was actually the armor he was meant to wear, Herbert still couldn't help shaking his head and muttering to himself: "Indeed, evil deeds bring their own retribution… no! Beautiful women always meet tragic ends—wait, that's not right either!"

"Cough, cough—it's always some villain trying to harm His Majesty."

Herbert muttered this inwardly, then looked up at the other two in the Shi Shi.

His gaze swept over the young female knight and settled on the one-eyed old knight.

Though this knight possessed only high-rank power, he gave Herbert a feeling no weaker than a typical Legend.

The two locked eyes, neither speaking first.

Mordon still maintained his alert posture, gripping his waist sword hilt tightly, his right eye fixed on Herbert's right hand.

"Your Excellency, you… oh?"

Herbert had intended to greet him, but seeing the old knight's demeanor, his brow twitched slightly—he realized something.

He felt as if he were staring at a volcano about to erupt, suppressed for years, searching for a trigger.

Or a massive, rotting, broken tree straining to sprout a new bud from its fracture.

Destruction—or rebirth.

Mordon was waiting for an opportunity.

"... Heh, fine."

Herbert smiled faintly, asked nothing, merely nodded to Mordon and chuckled, "If you want, go ahead—I won't mind."

Return kindness with kindness.

The monastery had always treated Herbert well; he wanted to repay them.

He didn't need to ask why, or demand any condition—he was willing to help his monastery brethren.

If I am your breakthrough opportunity, then come.

"Huh!"

Herbert's permission was like an adrenaline shot for Mordon—he exhaled sharply and nodded firmly.

The old knight drew his longsword, voice thick with excitement: "Thank you for your mercy! Forgive my impudence!"

Mordon took a deep breath and suddenly widened his left eye.

"Ha!"

With a low roar, all exposed skin on his body rapidly reddened, fine blood droplets oozing from every scar.

Thump-thump!

His heart pounded wildly, his body temperature soaring.

His aura surged rapidly, quickly approaching that of an ordinary Legend.

Mordon was adjusting to his peak state, seeking a breakthrough opportunity!

"Huh, huh, huh…"

Just as Mordon gathered all his strength to swing his first sword, the already disassembled armor suddenly floated up and automatically blocked before Herbert.

Click-click-click-click!

The full suit rapidly reassembled, like a hollow angel, faithfully standing guard before Herbert.

Divine Artifact Protects Its Master!

Then…

"Tch! Stop messing around, get out of the way!" Herbert snapped, flicking it away with a palm strike.

What are you doing standing in front of me right now?

Seriously, you've got no sense at all.

Don't you see I'm helping someone break through?

The armor that automatically protected its master never anticipated being ambushed by the very person it guarded—it shattered instantly.

The Angel Armor was once again shattered by Herbert's palm, scattering across the floor.

Clatter…

Zoyla stared blankly at the scene, unsure what expression to wear.

"Uh… this…"

Even though Zoyla was a seasoned "lickspittle," even though she had long cherished a deep longing for this Angel Armor since childhood.

But after witnessing this, deep doubt arose within her.

What exactly had all these years of her persistence been for?

Had her efforts… truly been right?

And was the Angel Armor really that important?

Had she been wrong to pour nearly all her energy into this?

Herbert hadn't expected that merely swatting twice would cause a seasoned "lickspittle" to lose her idolization of her goddess.

Indeed, classical mechanics remains classical.

The critique of weapons can never match the weapon's critique.

With no outside interference, Mordon also brought himself to peak condition.

The moment Herbert finished smashing the armor and withdrew his hand, Mordon seized the opportunity and struck instantly.

Hold your breath… focus… strike!

Whoosh—

He unleashed an overwhelming surge of power.

Mordon channeled every memory of his two-hundred-year life, every pain and rage he had endured, and all his insights over the years into a single point.

From his withered body erupted a terrifying flame, like a volcanic eruption.

His arm whipped like a whip.

The blade carved a crescent through the Shi Shi, roaring toward the young boy before him.

He had stayed in this Shi Shi too long—he didn't know Herbert's identity or his true strength.

Yet he felt an inexplicable trust in Herbert.

This young boy—no, this legendary warrior, this powerful Transcender—would surely withstand it.

And the result proved exactly as he had anticipated.

Mordon had done everything he could, concentrating his entire lifetime's skill into this single sword strike.

Yet this sword, forged from his entire life's power, was effortlessly blocked before Herbert's chest—with two fingers.

Ding.

Herbert pinched the knight's blade between two fingers with ease.

The entire motion was casual, devoid of any trace of effort, yet it rendered the legendary strike utterly null.

After his strike was caught, Mordon froze in place, no longer continuing his attack.

He simply stared blankly at Herbert's fingertips, as if infinite mysteries lay between them.

Herbert gently released his fingers and asked the still dazed old knight: "Now, do you understand?"

"Have you found the feeling you've been seeking?"

Herbert's gentle words jolted Mordon awake—he shook his head sharply, then nodded firmly.

"I found it… I found it!"

Mordon bowed repeatedly to Herbert, excited: "Thank you for your guidance! Thanks to your help, I feel like I've finally found that sensation."

Having witnessed true power, he felt the century-old barrier that had plagued him had finally cracked open.

For a moment, his eyes grew damp.

For so many years, he had refused to heal his wounds—partly to maintain his vigilance.

But wasn't it also a form of self-abandonment after losing hope of advancement?

Now, at last, he had found his path forward again.

"Thanks to your help, sir, thank you…"

"It's nothing. Don't thank me—it's not my achievement, but your own effort. I didn't do anything." Herbert shook his head lightly.

Herbert's words weren't just humility—he genuinely felt he had done nothing.

The breakthrough wasn't caused by Herbert, but by Mordon himself in that sword strike.

Herbert didn't know Mordon's name, nor his history.

He had merely served as a target before the volcano about to erupt.

"…You shouldn't be so modest."

Mordon slowly shook his head—he didn't believe Herbert had done nothing.

He had met many powerful figures; the monastery held no shortage of legends—but none had ever given him this feeling.

"Heh, then let's say it's that way—if it makes you feel better."

Neither could convince the other in the short term, so they silently let the topic drop.

At that moment, the female knight, who had been silent for a long time, finally spoke: "Um…"

Mordon suddenly jolted—he suddenly realized something.

Herbert's arrival was clearly for the battle armor, and this was precisely what Zoyla had always hoped for.

Bad!

Young knights always have their own temper.

They are upright, holding fast to their own principles.

But they are equally combative, unwilling to yield, convinced they alone are the true chosen ones.

Just as the old knight was about to stop the young knight and prevent her from acting impulsively… Zoyla had already rushed forward, excitedly arriving before Herbert.

"Child, don't be rude! You… hmm?" Moltun cried out, then his expression froze.

For in his vision, Zoyla had done nothing rude at all; instead, she behaved with great politeness.

Even overly polite.

The female knight bowed deeply to Herbert and thanked him: "Your Grace, thank you for your teaching—I realize my mistake."

"I shouldn't have wasted my energy on battle armor!"

And Herbert, the one she thanked, was… utterly bewildered.

???

Herbert: I don't understand! (Fenghua accent)

He could understand if the old knight thanked him.

Who the hell are you?

I never taught you anything!

But such unexpected little scenes were no challenge for Herbert.

"Hm? Oh, uh-huh."

He paused for only a second, then smiled and nodded softly: "Heh, this is all your own achievement—nothing to do with me."

Really nothing to do with me!

…

…

Radiant Shengcheng·Sorantis.

"Holy Pope, we just received a report—someone has seen that 【Lady】 again."

Hearing the report, the Sun Pope slowly opened his eyes, furrowed his brow, and said in a low voice:

"She has appeared again?"

(End of Chapter)