Chương 433: Chapter 420 - I Will Be There

"Did you manage to find out anything?" Leonie shook her head.

"No. We will have to wait for them to bring her out and act then." Lukas stared at her for a moment… and nodded.

"I will organize with the rest so we can prepare accordingly. Even if we are weaker, we know where it will happen and when, and we can use that to maximize our chances… however low they may still be."

"We will make it out of this one," Ayu said, trying to lift the mood.

"We've gone through too much to fall now to some self-righteous monks in golden clothes. They took one of us… and now they will pay the price for it." Lukas looked at Ayu and forced a smile. The fact that everyone was willing to stake their lives to save Chiara in what was almost certainly a suicide mission… said enough.

"We can prepare some long-range weapons to snipe them," Leonie suggested.

"Coordinate groups of two to three following the Pillar or Fusion path and try to remove the Crimson Priests first so they can't buff the others. After that, Imani can hold the squad of Judgment Crusaders for a moment while boosted by Lukas' Strength. Pablo's summon can rescue Chiara, while Ayu and I, boosted by Lukas' other cards, try to hold the Holy Knight for at least a brief window." Ayu nodded.

"Sounds good." Lukas stared at them. He knew the odds of Ayu and Leonie holding the Holy Knight, even for an instant, were slim, and the entire plan depended on the snipers killing the Crimson Priests with a single shot. If even one of them survived… it would mean the end for all of them once the Knight received their boost. Still… backing down was not an option. No matter what it took… they would save Chiara… or die trying.

"Alright, I will arrange things with my men and Leonhard. We will go all out on this strike and let the Church know what it means to mess with us Climbers," Leonie said with a grin. Despite the weight pressing inside her, and despite not having a particularly strong bond with Chiara, she knew how much she meant to the others… and especially to her brother. Lukas had always been the weak point in her armor. The one person in the world she could never bring herself to treat with cold calculation.

If saving Chiara was the only way to keep that light alive in him… then she would do it. Even if the cost… was everything.

"Climbers, huh?" Lukas chuckled despite it all, the word bringing him back to the speech he had given weeks ago.

"Alright then… let's do it."

"We should coordinate with Alonso too," Ayu said, suddenly shifting the focus.

"I already informed him about Chiara's situation, but I think he's inside a Dungeon. I haven't heard back from him."

"Alonso?" Leonie repeated. For a brief moment, a spark of hope stirred in her chest. She had no idea what his current situation was, yet the memory of his amazing feats remained vivid in her mind. If he were here… then perhaps … But then she let out a quiet breath.

"Alonso's last message came from the extreme east of Brithelm. It would take him at least seven to nine days at full speed to reach Westmarch. Even if he reached the Fourth State, it would still take around four to five days. Unfortunately, he—" A pulse suddenly reached Leonie's phone, interrupting her words. The same signal appeared on all of theirs. The message was short." I will be there."

Alonso calmly made his way through the Dungeon exit. After discussing it with Houston, it seemed the 'few hours' he had been experimenting inside had translated to over 40… Time sure passed fast when focusing at his level. He would have to be careful with that in future sessions. As he walked through the fort, he saw the stationed guards' eyes widen in disbelief. And he knew well why. As a Silver rank, he had just passed through the gate instead of dropping from above.

That was a sign that he had cleared the Dungeon and not used an Escape Crystal. He didn't give it much thought and offered a casual nod, as he always did, before making his way to the Guild's liaison, with whom he left his phone, as it would be useless inside and highly likely to break. He felt quite excited to finally tell the others. Yet as he grabbed it and read through the messages, his face went from happy after hearing they had cleared their second special boss, to worried… to clenching his fist.

All his excited mood faded away as several emotions hit him hard. Worry. Regret. Anger… and resolve. Westmarch… He quickly went through the map he had of Brithelm in his head. The distance toward it was vast, hovering around one million kilometers, basically the equivalent of traveling the circumference of Earth 26 times. And he had to do it in less than 70 hours. That would mean he would need an average speed of… … shit. Alonso quickly assessed his options.

His gaze then lingered on the Guild's liaison, who looked at him in confusion.

"Do you have Dungeon orbs you can sell me?" The man blinked for a moment before nodding.

"Well, I have a few, yes. How many do you want?"

"All of them."

Alonso strapped the hundreds of Dungeon orbs in tight wraps beneath his clothes, careful not to let them touch his skin and be absorbed by mistake, even if he knew they would not if one willed them not to. He then took a deep breath and sent one message to the others." I will be there." He didn't have enough orbs to use Judgment Surge every 70 seconds for 70 hours straight, so he would have to do it every ten minutes. Still… it should be enough. With that, he focused.

He went all out as the projection of the human-shaped void flared around him, his Will Manifest embracing him fully, now stronger than ever due to the power of his Will. Then his microcapacitors flared to life as the charge inside his body surged, magnetising each of the hundreds of thousands of them inside his frame. He took a step forward. The ground exploded beneath his feet. A massive crater formed as electric sparks burst outward and the air around him twisted violently. And then— He vanished.

His form blurred across the fields as he launched upward, gaining altitude to reduce the atmospheric drag and avoid shredding the ground beneath him. And like that he pushed. Faster. Further. His body began to protest, forced far beyond its biological limits, yet he didn't care. The charge burning through his microcapacitors scorched him from the inside while the pressure of the air crushed against his body like an invisible wall. Still he accelerated. Mach 6… Mach 7…

His Will flared around him, bending the flow of air as much as possible, forcing the world itself to treat him as part of the current rather than an obstacle tearing through it. The pressure decreased. The speed increased. Mach 8… Mach 9… The land below him collapsed into streaks of color. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Despite everything, the air began to glow faintly around his body as shock heating intensified.

The atmosphere in front of him compressed violently, temperatures climbing higher and higher. His skin began to burn. Even with his Will coating him, the heat clawed through. Blood leaked from his nose. The droplets vaporised almost instantly in the rushing air. Yet he kept pushing. Mach 10… Mach 11… The pressure was monstrous now. The atmosphere of this world was much denser than Earth's, and the violent compression of the air in front of him began to create a thin sheath of incandescent plasma around his body.

The heat climbed past four thousand degrees. Five thousand. His skin blistered. The muscles in his legs tore under the stress of sustaining the acceleration while the magnetic forces inside his body threatened to rip apart the delicate structures holding him together. The pain was overwhelming. Yet his Will burned even brighter. He forced himself deeper into the flow of the world itself, imposing his authority on it as if it were an enemy resisting him. Step by step. Force against force. Until— The barrier broke.

Mach 12 He eased the acceleration slightly, just enough to match the drag and keep the tearing forces inside him from destroying his body outright. Even then the air screamed around him, the glowing shock front wrapping his form like a comet tearing across the sky. And still… He pushed. Even if his body stood on the edge of shattering… He would make it.

Bang… Bang… Bang… Each strike of the Church's bells rolled across the town like a hammer striking iron, the sound echoing through the narrow stone streets and bouncing off the slate rooftops. The rhythm was slow and deliberate, spaced just enough that every resident knew exactly what it meant. Judgment. Merchants closed the wooden shutters of their stalls. Carters pulled their wagons to the sides of the road.

Doors opened and people stepped outside, drawn toward the center of town as the bells continued their grim rhythm. Bang… Bang… Bang… By the time the procession entered the outer streets, the roads were already lined with spectators. People stood shoulder to shoulder along the edges of the stone lanes, some whispering to one another, others simply staring down the road where the Church's column slowly advanced. The first to appear were the Judgment Crusaders.

Seven of them marched in disciplined formation, heavy boots striking the stones in perfect cadence. Their armor was dark steel engraved with scripture, each plate polished until the gray morning light reflected across its surface. Crimson cloaks hung from their shoulders and swayed slightly with every step. Two of them held chains. Between them she walked. Chiara. Her arms had been pulled behind her back and locked into iron manacles.

Thick chains wrapped several times around her torso and waist before connecting to a heavy collar around her neck. Over her body, several layers of coarse white cloth had been tightly wound and tied in place with braided cords. Much of it had already come loose. The wrappings were torn in several places, exposing bruised skin beneath. Dark purple marks spread across her ribs and shoulders where the restraints had dug into her flesh, while thin streaks of dried blood traced along her arms and down her side.

The fabric had been soaked. The smell of alchemical oils hung heavily in the air around her, sharp and bitter even from several paces away. Preparation for the flame. Yet the most prominent feature was the helmet that encased her head. The dark metal had been hammered into a grotesque shape, its surface engraved with jagged scripture and twisted into the crude likeness of a snarling demon's face.

The plates sealed tightly around her head and neck, held in place by iron nails driven through the collar into the flesh beneath. Thin trails of blood had already dried around the punctures. From a distance it made her look less like a prisoner… and more like the monster the Church claimed she was. Her steps were steady, yet something about them hinted at a strange emptiness, as if they were carried forward by a lifeless current rather than the will of someone still present inside.

Behind them marched the remaining five Crusaders, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons while their eyes scanned the crowd with disciplined indifference. A short distance from them walked the clergy. Two Crimson Priests led the column. Their long mantles of crimson and gold flowed down to their boots, the heavy cloth embroidered with intricate patterns of scripture and sigils. Their faces remained hidden beneath deep hoods, though faint pulses of distorted air flowed along the staffs they carried.

At the rear of the entire procession walked the lone Holy Knight. A long white cape flowed from his shoulders, its heavy cloth trimmed with gold thread that glimmered faintly with each step. His armor caught the light as he moved, polished silver plates layered across his frame and engraved with radiant sigils that shimmered with faint lines of gold. The effect of his presence on the crowd was immediate. People stepped back instinctively as he passed, a pressure hanging heavy and solemn in the air around him.

Even those who had pushed forward for a better view found themselves retreating a pace as the column moved through the streets. The bells continued their slow hammering. Bang… Bang… Bang… The procession reached the central plaza of Westmarch. Thousands had already gathered. The square had been cleared of market stalls and wagons. Wooden barriers marked a wide circle around the execution platform, where Church attendants in gray robes waited silently beside stacks of timber and bundles of oil-soaked straw.

At the center stood the stake. A thick iron post had been driven deep into the stone platform, its surface darkened by previous fires. Chains hung from several iron rings along its length, prepared to secure the condemned upright against it. The Crusaders led Chiara up the steps. The murmuring crowd gradually fell quiet as the chains clinked against the iron post. One Crusader forced her to kneel while another wrapped the restraints around the stake, fastening the chains tightly around her torso and shoulders.

Additional iron bands locked around her waist and arms, pulling her body firmly against the metal pillar. The Crusaders stepped away once the final locks snapped shut. The Holy Knight stopped near the base of the platform and remained there, his gaze sweeping across the crowd without a single change in expression. One of the Crimson Priests climbed the platform. He raised his staff slowly. The murmuring in the plaza faded as people leaned forward to listen.

His voice carried clearly across the square, strengthened by his Will." People of Brithelm. Today you bear witness to the cleansing of corruption from these lands." He turned slightly and gestured toward Chiara, her head sealed inside the grotesque iron helmet." The condemned stands before you as an agent of the Daemons, bearer of a corrupted artefact and a vessel through which their influence sought to spread across our sacred lands." A ripple passed through the crowd as murmurs spread from one group to the next.

Without them realizing it, faint pulses of EM waves stirred their emotions, amplifying fear, anger, and righteous fervor in response to the priest's words. Several people made the sign of the Church. Others began shouting.

"Burn the witch!"

"Purge the corruption!"

"Cleanse the daemon's servant!" The priest lifted his staff again and the noise gradually subsided." After sacred inquiry and judgment by—" Meanwhile, hidden amongst the crowd, several cloaked figures waited. Among them stood Ayu, Imani, and Leonie. High above the square, far from the center, on the roof of a tall tower building, Lukas stood with Pablo and several others around them.

Each group of three channeled their waves into anchored, massive EM-based long-barrel sniper rifles aimed directly at the two Crimson Priests, all of them masked from detection under the influence of The Hermit. And in that silence… they waited.

Perhaps because of overconfidence, or simply because they did not expect resistance, the Church seemed rather unconcerned about the gathering crowd as well. Leonie had detected only a few casual scouting EM waves, while most of them were focused on subtly influencing the minds of those present. She kept her breathing steady as the seconds slipped away. She knew they could not delay much longer.

During the last transmission with Alonso, more than twenty hours ago, she had shared their full plan along with the exact timing of the execution. His reply had been short." Wait for my move before you strike." Since then, she had sent several additional messages. None had received a reply. A knot of worry had grown in her chest, yet the others had tried to reassure her. Perhaps his phone had been destroyed during the flight.

Perhaps he was traveling at such speeds that even checking it would break his concentration. Whatever the reason… None of them doubted him. For some reason they all believed, with absolute certainty, that if Alonso said he would arrive in time… Then he would arrive in time. And so here they were. Seconds away from the flames being lit. Already past the ideal moment to strike. Yet still… They waited. They waited… for a miracle.

"By decree of the Holy Church, the sentence of purification by sacred flame shall now be carried out upon this corrupted vessel, that her taint may be cleansed from these lands and her soul delivered to—" The priest's words faltered as the air around him shifted. A quiet change rippled through the plaza.

Light across the square dimmed as though the sun itself had withdrawn behind an unseen veil, and within a heartbeat the heavens above Westmarch transformed into a vast expanse of stars spreading across the sky in silent, radiant splendor. For a single breath the entire world seemed to pause beneath that impossible firmament. In that fleeting instant Leonie felt it clearly. The miracle… had arrived.