I impersonated God in America

In that case, whether or not to kill them becomes irrelevant.

[Truly worthy of being called a living saint!]

May you find peace in heaven.

As he thought this, everything suddenly went black, as if he had lost contact with the world.

What's going on here?

Before he could react, a bright light appeared in the darkness, and he felt as if his head had separated from his body. The aura of death engulfed him, and his body began to spiral out of his control.

Am I dead? No...

As the darkness faded, he found that his body was still intact, except that the blood-red longsword in his hand had fallen to the ground as a pool of pus and blood because he had lost control of it.

What happened?

Before he could continue manipulating the blood, a sharp pain shot through his leg.

thump.

……

Huhu.

"Who sent you?"

Giovanni looked at the boy in front of him with both legs broken and questioned him.

The boy did not answer, his gaze passing over Giovanni and looking towards the blood-soaked square outside the church.

[Failed? Then there's no other way but to use the final solution from the Golden Cup.]

Then, he raised his hand.

The blood left behind by the monsters in the square seemed to have heard some kind of call.

It surged from all directions, splashing onto the church's outer walls.

With a whoosh.

The entire exterior wall of the church was splashed with a striking bright red.

"Is this guy crazy? What is he trying to do?"

"Blasphemy! This is pure blasphemy!!!"

The crowd inside the church erupted in gasps and curses.

Giovanni gripped his sword, staring at the blood-soaked youth before him: "What exactly do you want?"

The boy looked at him, his lips moved, and he uttered two words:

"Feel sorry."

puff!

Giovanni stared at the corpse in silence.

Rumble.

Just as everyone was wondering about his actions, they suddenly felt the ground shake.

"What's going on? Is it an earthquake?"

------------

"Look! The earth seems to be bulging up!"

Wenban felt something was wrong with the ground beneath his feet; it seemed as if waves were coming from the west.

He looked up at the source of the sound and then froze.

The surface of the Rhône River was bulging upwards, the entire riverbed was being bulged up, as if something was slowly rising from the bottom of the river, pushing against the surface and bulging higher and higher.

The waves surged outwards from the bulge, splashing onto both banks and submerging the riverbed.

Rumble.

The sound was so loud it made people's eardrums go numb.

It looks like a small island.

[Do you think it might be some kind of secret realm?]

Don't worry, having a streamer around is definitely not a good thing.

Watching the interaction in the live chat, Wenban was initially a little uncertain, but she couldn't hold back her emotions after seeing the last sentence.

"What do you mean by 'nothing good ever happens when I'm around'..."

But before he could finish speaking, he suddenly saw the "island" begin to move, and the rest of his words got stuck in his throat.

A huge outline slowly emerged from the water in the center of the surface, and the water curtain cascaded down from the head, allowing Wen Ban to see the other party's true face.

"Lion's head?"

Wait, if that was a head, then what about that "island"...?

"Bullshit! That was the other person's back!"

"Awooo!!!"

--------

Paris, French Ministry of Defense

"What kind of monster is this?"

The analyst stared at the image on the screen, then suddenly his pupils contracted, and he quickly pulled up a chart and projected it onto the screen.

"A lion's head, a turtle's body, covered in scales..."

"There's no mistake! This is definitely Tarask!"

After being reminded by the analyst, everyone realized what was happening.

Actually, this monster is quite famous locally, but people just couldn't immediately associate it with its appearance.

Legend has it that a monster named Tarasque once plagued this region, but was later subdued by the saint Martha.

Following Martha back to the village, the terrified villagers were instead provoked to attack.

In the end, the monster was killed by the villagers without fighting back.

"But why did Tarasque appear?"

"I think I know what that boy was trying to do."

In an instant, they understood how the boy who had manipulated blood had stained the church of St. Martha with blood.

"To awaken the sleeping monster through blasphemy against the church?"

Charles frowned, glancing at the countless four-legged beast corpses on the ground: "It's possible that this guy had already begun to gradually break the seal before that."

"Look at this guy's eyes, he seems to have ill intentions."

“I have a guess. Since the other party is a monster that was once subdued by Saint Marda, is it possible that it wants to inherit Marda’s will?”

"for example?"

"Continue to protect the local residents?"

"Oh? You're quite the guesser."

Chapter 142 The Priest and the Cross

"Your Excellency Minister! The Marseille troops have reached the outskirts of Tarascon! The armored formations have completed deployment and are requesting operational orders!"

Everyone in the conference room perked up.

"Good!" Charles jumped to his feet. "Order the troops..."

Before he could finish speaking, the screen began to shake violently.

The ground of the entire city of Tarascon seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand, suddenly collapsing inward.

Road surfaces, streetlights, and houses were lifted up like building blocks, rolled into the ground, and then collapsed with a roar.

"Damn it! This guy is attacking!"

"First Armored Company! Second Armored Company! Prepare for battle!"

The town of Tarascon has been reduced to ruins.

Dust obscured half the sky, broken bricks and tiles were scattered all over the ground, broken water pipes were spraying water, and overturned cars lay upside down in the rubble.

In the distance, the official tank formation had already set up its formation, with all the gun barrels pointed at the behemoth.

Dense artillery fire exploded on it, smoke and dust rose, and shrapnel flew everywhere.

Tarasque did not stop.

The shells exploded on its scales, creating plumes of smoke, but the shells left it completely unharmed after they dissipated.

It seemed oblivious to the barrage of gunfire and charged straight toward the church.

His eyes were filled with rage and ferocity.

Paul stood at the church entrance, gazing at the enormous black shadow that was steadily approaching in the distance.

"The artillery fire... had no effect on it; the enemy didn't even try to take cover."

A priest, watching the approaching figure, said with unease, "Bishop Paul, the situation is getting out of control..."

"We have to get out of here."

"Run! That Tarask is charging!"

The crowd screamed as they ran out of the church, trampling over the rubble, and scattered in all directions away from the giant beast.

For the local residents, they reacted to the other party's identity even faster than the officials.

After all, they hold a grand Tarasque Festival every year.

During the festival, people carry a giant model of Tarasque through the parade.

No one understands each other's identities better than they do.

The church dome trembled as dust rained down, and the image of Saint Martha on the stained glass window appeared and disappeared in the dust.

"In that case, let me try again."

Giovanni's abdominal wound was still bleeding, and his face was deathly pale.

He braced himself against Durandal with one hand, the tip of his sword touching the ground, supporting his swaying body.

The fingers gripping the sword were trembling slightly.

“Giovanni,” Paul’s voice was strained, “you’re injured like this, you can’t hold on…”

"If the opponent is merely thick-skinned and tough like the previous four-legged beast, then the combined power of the Holy Sword and the Holy Mark may be able to defeat it."

Giovanni slowly straightened up, took a deep breath, lifted Durandal off the ground, and held him horizontally in front of him.

The holy mark on his palm, like squeezing toothpaste, attached its meager power to the sword.

His limbs were already somewhat unsteady, and the light of the holy sword was faintly visible.

As he watched the giant beast approach step by step, he recited his life motto once again.

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

"God, let me swing again... cough cough."

Just as he was about to take that step,

A hand reached out and firmly pressed down on his sword.

Giovanni paused, then turned his head.

Bishop Paul shook his head slightly. "You have done enough."

"No, I can still..."

"Listen to me, Giovanni!"