I chose the safe house, and the Human Alliance regretted it.

The "Glax" base is located just over ten miles from the foot of the Holy Mountain, making it the closest base fortress to the Holy Mountain.

dusk.

The last rays of sunset on the horizon, like splashed blood, dyed the earth a dark red.

The crowds pouring in from all directions are slowly but steadily converging on the Grax base.

"Defend the sacred mountain, protect our homeland to the death!"

"To live and die with the sacred mountain!"

The slogans rose and fell, shaking even the evening glow.

S-level superpowered individuals, A-level awakened individuals, and most ordinary people without any superpowers—men, women, the elderly, and even teenagers.

They emerged from various bases in Northern Europe and marched in a grand procession toward Grax.

No one ordered them.

No one forced them.

The Vatican's call was like a spark, igniting a flame in everyone's heart.

These people gathered into torrents, flowing like rivers into the sea, surging towards the foot of the mountain that was about to be trampled flat by the strange beasts.

Their faces were filled with piety, as if they were not heading towards death, but attending a sacred feast.

An old woman walked at the head of a procession.

Behind them, a boy couldn't help but ask, "Grandma, why did you have to come? You're not a superhuman."

The old woman stopped, a glint of light appearing in her cloudy eyes.

"Children, the sacred mountain is our root. If the root is gone, the tree will fall. You young people go to fight, and Grandma will cook and boil water for you."

The boy bit his lip and didn't say anything more.

In another group, a middle-aged man was pushing a flatbed cart piled high with shovels, hoes, and kitchen knives he had dug out of his house.

"What are you doing with all this?" someone asked from the side.

The man grinned. "Fighting alien beasts! Superhumans can fight them, and so can we ordinary people. A kitchen knife might not cut through them, but it can at least block them."

The people around laughed.

There was bitterness in the laughter, and also an indescribable sense of tragic grandeur.

The sunset glow shone on every face, giving those ordinary faces a heroic quality.

At least, that's how they see it.

Inside the Grax base, Ras and a group of "heretics" had already arrived ahead of time.

He stood on the city wall, gazing at the crowds gathering in the distance, his brow furrowed.

Six hundred thousand. Seven hundred thousand. And it's still increasing.

Everyone is working incredibly hard.

Everyone felt they were protecting their homeland.

Everyone believes that the Vatican is with them.

"What about the Covenant Church?"

Behind them, an SSS-level superhuman suddenly spoke.

The air fell silent for a moment.

"Yeah, where are the Vatican's people?" another person chimed in.

No one answered.

Ras remained silent for a long time.

When he spoke, his voice was very soft, so soft it was as if he were confirming something with himself:

"The Vatican entrusted this place to us..."

At the same moment, nearly 100 kilometers away.

On the road, a convoy stretching for several kilometers was slowly moving north.

Military vehicles, trucks, buses, and luxury RVs.

One after another, lined up end to end, like a massive steel torrent crawling along.

The Covenant Church's "strategic relocation deployment".

Elijah stood by the roadside, watching military vehicles drive past him.

Just then, a little girl of about seven or eight years old peered out of the window of a military vehicle.

She was holding an ice cream cone, strawberry flavored, which was half melted and dripping down her wrist.

She saw Elika and waved to him.

Elijah did not respond to her.

His gaze shifted from the car window to the south—the direction of the Grax base.

The skyline in that direction had been burned a dark red by the sunset.

"Ilikai".

A voice came from behind.

He turned around and saw a middle-aged man in a black robe—Maurice, the Vatican's Chief Steward.

Morris's robe was spotless, and the silver cross on his collar gleamed warmly in the sunset.

"The cult leader wants you to go."

Elijah followed Morris toward a black luxury RV.

The car door opened. Smoke billowed out.

King Paul XIII, the founder of the Covenant Church, leaned back in a velvet chair, holding a glass of red wine.

He didn't look like he was on the run; he looked more like he was on a tour.

"Sit down." The cult leader gestured to the seat opposite him.

Elijah sat down.

"What are you thinking about?" The cult leader took a sip of wine.

"I'm thinking about those who stayed behind," Elikai said. "Those who fought for the Papacy, for their homeland."

The cult leader put down his wine glass and sighed.

"Illicaeus, you know what? What I admire most about you is your honesty. But honesty can't save lives."

"But the doctrine says that no believer should be abandoned—"

"The doctrine is for the living," the cult leader interrupted him.

His tone remained calm. But beneath that calm lay a thin, yet fleeting, layer of impatience: "The dead need no doctrine."

Elijah remained silent.

The cult leader looked out the car window.

His gaze pierced through the glass, and his voice softened, "Those who stay behind will become heroes. History will remember them."

"Their names will be engraved on holy monuments, written in religious texts, and sung by generations of believers. And we—we will survive, we will continue the faith, we will live on in their place."

He looked away and turned to Elika.

"They will live forever in the documents and doctrines, in our hearts," he said. "And what we need to do is live on for them. That is true inheritance."

Elijah clenched his fist.

"Do those ordinary people who were mobilized know the truth?"

The cult leader did not answer this question.

He picked up his glass again and swirled it gently.

The red liquid swirled in the glass, like blood.

"History is written by living people," he said.

"A hundred years from now, no one will remember what happened today."

He paused.

"They will only remember that the Covenant Church survived the calamity and continued to exist. That is the truth."

He took a sip of his drink, then waved his hand. "Go ahead. Don't overthink it."

Elijah stood up.

As he turned around, he saw a small icon sticker on the inside of the car door that read: "The Lord is with you."

Before the car door closed, he heard the cult leader say softly:

May the Lord forgive us.

The car door closed.

forgive.

The word hovered in the air.

Elijah stood by the roadside, watching the convoy continue its northward journey.

The car headlights formed a winding river of light in the twilight, flowing into the distance, towards where the "living people" should go.

In the opposite direction, hundreds of thousands of lives are converging into another river.

A river built of blood and flesh.

A river that was promised to flow into the annals of history.

A river unaware that it has been used as a stepping stone at the bottom of its riverbed.

The sunset finally faded.

it's dark.

The lights of the Grax base shone in the distance, like a pile of embers about to be extinguished.

One hundred kilometers away, this torrent of steel continues its northward journey quietly, respectably, and blamelessly.