Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

Chapter 707 The Third Party

Mr. Raymond has been having a great time lately.

When he left the meeting and returned to the Chapel of Holy Light, he discovered a stain on his soul. It was a distorted mass of spirit created by Lyle's Dream Flower; Mr. Raymond's dream communication with the Literary Society was bidirectional. The difference was that the Literary Society had been distorted into warriors of light, while Mr. Raymond quickly discovered a small, stubborn clump of spiritual illusion lurking in the corner of his soul.

With just a little thought about the relevant content, touching upon that illusion, every action experienced in the dream would resurface in his mind, attempting to twist Raymond into a god of light. The lurking mental illness was as insidious and vicious as a poisoned chalice.

Mr. Raymond was delighted; the Child of Light had even granted him a memory ability. In a good mood, Mr. Raymond did not erase the filthy clumps from his soul.

He greeted Lofdi in a friendly manner. The diligent Dark Protoss was praying, his piety simple and pure in Raymond's eyes, though unfortunately, he couldn't communicate with the Holy Light. But that was alright; Mr. Raymond would act on behalf of the Holy Light's mercy.

As for her other companion, Sister Ariane, she had long since left. In Mr. Raymond's eyes, this woman had undergone a negative transformation, especially after encountering the Child of Light; this self-abandonment was particularly evident. After all, she was a Divergent, and the corruption of the soul was more easily induced. Raymond felt some sympathy for her; it must have been the overwhelming brilliance of the Pure Ones that caused the insecure nun to experience a sense of loss and pain in comparison.

As the leader of the Holy Light Omnipotent Society, he had failed in his duty by not considering the feelings of his subordinates, and this was his responsibility. Mr. Raymond secretly vowed that he would pay more attention to Sister Ariane in the future, to help this sister who was falling from grace to see the error of her ways, and never allow her to completely fall into the shadows and collude with that scoundrel George.

So, what exactly happened to that bastard George to fall to such a state? My fist technique, which is supposedly torment but is actually a form of "healing" with holy light, didn't improve him in the slightest. My lifelong practice of the Holy Light Fist for personality correction only made him wail. Was it really because my power wasn't enough? After all, he's a Crusader leader, an angel-level being.

Raymond recalled how the Angel of Fire was always late for church services, left early, and skipped classes. He was unruly towards priests and bishops, and even assaulted his fellow soldiers (under the guise of training). Wait a minute, could it be that George was a scoundrel when he was alive?! It's just that the aura of the angel's power makes everything seem reasonable.

It turns out that the downfall of those who chase the light is not without reason; every setback begins with slacking off.

Mr. Raymond stood on the podium, lost in thought for a long time, so long that he heard George's call.

The Holy Light watches over all humanity, and Mr. Raymond, as the embodiment of the Holy Light, represents a portion of it. Therefore, he pays attention to those he cares about and is always available when called upon.

George, the arsonist and troublemaker, is one of them.

Mr. Raymond, in high spirits, hurried to George's location, where a proactive shout of being beaten would probably prove George's remorse.

Mr. Raymond has arrived.

Mr. Raymond saw it.

Mr. Raymond's attitude became serious.

Mr. Raymond said.

"My brother, who do you want to kill? I'll help you."

"Raymond! Die!" Raymond's pitying and sympathetic demeanor, coupled with his status as the culprit, only fueled Mr. Darkness's anger. Mr. Darkness's power erupted further; he transformed into a meteor and charged towards Raymond, intending to deliver his furious punch to Raymond's pretentious face.

Mr. Raymond sighed. It was the same again. He had been trying to be helpful but hadn't. He thought the man was serious because of some crisis, but it turned out to be another pointless sneak attack.

He dodged the dark punch by tilting his head, his body remaining completely still, as the descending holy light slap struck the ethereal spirit's face like a fierce hurricane.

"Stop messing around, little brother, you're super weak in close combat."

The ethereal being was fanned and flew in a circle in the air. Its spinning cloud wings followed the center of the circle and transformed into a magnificent vortex, which was breathtaking.

Flames shone in the darkness, and the ethereal spirit's left cheek turned gold, gleaming like gold against the backdrop of the overall darkness.

An exaggerated slap mark made the dark fury even more hysterical.

"Ahhhhh!!!"

"Raymond!!!"

"How dare you!!! How dare you!!!"

Mr. Dark's lines were interrupted by Mr. Raymond.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been slapped. Why are you talking so loudly, George?”

"Ahhhhh!!!"

Mr. Darkness covered his face and began throwing shadows.

Dangerous shadow fragments exploded into small flames on the Holy Light Armor, then vanished under the Holy Light. Mr. Raymond flexed his wrists, and the familiar procedure began.

Someone interrupted Raymond's happiness.

The Dean breathed a sigh of relief; he was glad the Holy Light Calamity hadn't sided with the wrong side. But now was not the time for their private feud.

"Raymond! Stop! This is a misunderstanding!"

"Misunderstanding?" Raymond glanced at the dean, whose wizard's hat was askew, and wondered why there were so many liches standing in the courtyard. But it didn't matter; if Raymond wanted to beat up George, that was perfectly justified.

"Old man, mind your own business."

"Misunderstanding? I hit you because it was a misunderstanding! Some people just deserve a beating."

The dean was speechless. Were the thought processes of these idealistic mystics all mass-produced?

But he learned to be smart.

"You brat, take a closer look behind the darkness, look at the members of the literary society."

Raymond was somewhat surprised, but he still followed the dean's advice; the old man wasn't senile after all.

"Literary Society? They're hopeless. I'd be happy if they caused any trouble."

"Ah, I see. George, you're so irritable because those bastards are causing trouble."

"Hmph, I'll see just how pathetic your lackey really is!"

"..."

The big light bulb and a group of small light bulbs stared at each other in silence, and in the silence, the Warrior of Light realized something.

"God of Light! Have you come to save us?! Holy Light above! Please eradicate all evil!!!"

"God! Help us!!!"

The warriors of light began to clasp their hands in prayer, and some even knelt and kowtowed directly to Raymond in the air.

Mr. Raymond stiffened and looked terrified.

George's lackey became my lackey. The Literary Society, repent and embrace the holy light?!

Impossible! Absolutely impossible!

Raymond subconsciously denied reality, but then suddenly remembered the details of his discussion with Ariane about the Andre News a few days ago.

It's possible; anything is possible.

Anything is possible when it comes to Lyle the Pure One.

Mr. Darkness wasn't stupid; he noticed Raymond's terror upon seeing the Warrior of Light, a reaction identical to his own. Raymond, also unaware of the situation, felt his anger subside considerably.

It was a misunderstanding, and Darkness accepted that fact.

But he still pretended to be very angry; the great Dark Lord would never admit that he was wrong.

The problem is now very simple.

How to survive under Raymond's fists.

To seize the initiative! To make baseless accusations!

"Raymond! You actually took advantage of my absence to whitewash my Dark Legion! You... filthy messenger of the Holy Light! Do you have anything to say for yourself?!"

Quickly say you didn't know, that you were also a victim, and then I, the great one, will mercifully forgive you and let bygones be bygones for the slap you gave me before.

"I have nothing to explain."

You... could it really be you who did it?! Damn it, I'm so angry, but I can't beat you.

Darkness snorted coldly and readjusted his mindset.

"Okay! Now that you've admitted your mistake, tell me where you went wrong!"

Mr. Raymond clenched his fists and bowed his head, looking regretful.

"My mistake was being arrogant and conceited. I thought I understood the Son of the Holy Light's worship of me, but I underestimated this bond!"

"The epidemic doctor really, really, really, really admires me!!!"

"For my sake, he actually purified the rotten fish and shrimp of the literary society into holy light."

"So powerful! So great! So sublime! This emotion! This bond!"

"Is this what it means to do anything for your beliefs and for what you love?!"

The darkness was terrified.

"What? You're saying it was the plague doctor who did it?!"

"What kind of purification nonsense is this? This is brainwashing! My four Heavenly Kings, the Fallen Light, actually have such potential! Brainwashing and assimilation, isn't that the specialty of those pyramid scheme priests?! Another Galaron?!"

Chapter 708 Andre's Final Court

Lyle clutched the piece of paper tightly in his hand. He had long expected this day to come, just as he had felt when he first picked up the invitation to Andrea Academy. Fate was beckoning him; he would eventually obtain it.

"Nonsense," Lyle dismissed his pessimistic thoughts, his expression as wilted as a frostbitten eggplant.

He'd gotten himself into big trouble. The delicate piece of paper in his hand was a summons from the Andre Enforcer's Court. His senior law professor had contacted him using the Andre Ring. Lyle remembered the serious, solemn tone in the professor's voice. That kind of tone usually meant something bad was going to happen.

"The Final Court of Judgment is convened because of the Lich Bane you caused, Mr. Plague Doctor. As the party involved, please return to the Academy immediately."

The court summons was far less ornate than the academy's invitation. It had no envelope, no dark gold trim along the edges, and the Andrei emblem was the only decoration besides the text. On the back was a runic credential authorizing passage. Clearly, the academy wasn't planning on giving anyone entering the courtroom a friendly welcome. As Lyle emerged from the cracked teleportation array, the Faceless Man's strange gaze made him uneasy. The man handed Lyle the summons.

Before Lyle hurriedly left the Druid's Crypt and returned to Andre, he secretly contacted Shining and the others to inquire about the situation. His companions from the Necromancer's Figurine Club explained the general outline and the outcome of the events. They said the Literature Club, under his brainwashing, had all transformed into adorable anime protagonists, and with Mr. Raymond's holy light, they had inadvertently stormed Andre Academy, turning Andre into a battlefield, even piloting a Gundam and dropping a nuclear bomb. No one talked about the fearless cockpit; Shining knew the esteemed Plague Doctor Club president wasn't interested in such trivial details.

Every time Shining said an extra word, Lyle's expression would twist a little more on the other end of the communication line. His out-of-control eyebrows would contort like worms, and Lyle would feel mentally disoriented, as if his soul was about to leave his body like Nia's.

Is it even necessary for me to go back and face death? I feel like I could die any number of times. Mr. Raymond, is there any way to save me?

The night sky over Andre seemed a little brighter; the newly formed temporary barrier, like a mirror in the sky, reflected the moonlight, making the land of Andre even brighter. The acrid smell of burnt earth mingled with the dust of alchemical explosions; every few steps required crossing a deep crater. The cries of war refugees were disturbing Lyle's mind, plunging him into deep self-doubt.

I'm so capable.

"My legs! Has anyone seen my legs?!"

"I have an extra finger?!"

"Please! Dig me out, my head is buried in the ground."

Fear and despair wriths screamed in the trenches as they trudged through a swamp of bone fragments. Their own condition was dire; their crumbling, cracked skeletons, pieced together with flimsy strength, were like fragile porcelain, seemingly ready to shatter at the slightest touch. A shadow fell over Lyle's heart as he slumped into the dusty academy, like a puppet devoid of its soul.

Before long, several healthy liches approached the trench and called to their vulnerable companions inside.