I impersonated God in America

Do you remember the legend of this monster?

Before receiving a reply, Paul continued the conversation himself:

"Legend has it that this monster wreaked havoc in the Rhône River, but was eventually subdued by Saint Martha. It did not retaliate even when it was harmed by civilians."

Paul's gaze fell on the approaching behemoth. "So I think maybe we can take a gamble."

Giovanni understood the meaning behind the other person's tone.

"You mean, use a sacred relic to calm it down? But where are you going to find a sacred relic for Saint Martha?"

“Before you arrived, we found some clues within the church; perhaps we can give it a try.”

What if it fails?

Paul looked at him for a moment, then sighed softly:

"But there's no better way right now."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

“Giovanni, you are a saint of the Papacy, you should not sacrifice yourself here. Rome needs you more than I do.”

Giovanni opened his mouth, about to say something.

Two gusts of wind came from behind.

The two priests raised their hands simultaneously, forming palms with their fingers, and struck him precisely on the back of the neck.

The force was just right, causing his vision to go black.

"you?!"

Giovanni's pupils dilated suddenly, and his body swayed. After all, he had been fighting hard and his body was nearing its limit.

Before I could react, my consciousness sank.

thump.

Paul reached out and caught his falling body, gently laying him flat on the steps.

“Take him back to the Papal States along with the sacred artifacts of Avignon.”

"Bishop, and you?"

"I'll stay."

The two priests exchanged a glance, about to say something, but Paul interrupted them by raising his hand.

"That's an order, go."

The two priests no longer hesitated.

They lifted the unconscious Giovanni, picked up the wooden box containing the sacred artifact, and turned to retreat away from the giant beast.

Paul watched them walk away, then turned and faced the church.

A moment later, he reappeared with bandages wrapped around his hands and a huge cross on his back.

The two sacred objects resonated with each other, their halos spreading out in layers.

In fact, he already knew when he was resisting the four-legged beast that the power of these two sacred objects had been exhausted.

If there is still any power left inside, it will certainly not be destroyed.

Now, all we can do is hope that the other party can recognize Saint Martha's aura.

Paul looked up at the giant beast that was getting closer and closer in the distance.

I took a step and walked over.

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

Tarascon, on the edge of ruins.

The fleeing crowd surged through the rubble, through the broken streets, and headed south.

A middle-aged woman, holding a child, stumbled and fell as she was swept along by the crowd.

"Which way did that priest go?"

"What is he doing? Has he gone mad?"

"Wait, what is that light?!"

She suddenly heard someone exclaim in surprise beside her, and involuntarily followed their gaze and turned around to look.

Then she stopped.

In the center of the ruins, a white light is moving against the flow of people.

Bishop Paul carried the enormous cross, step by step treading over the rubble.

The bandages hung on his wrists, gleaming white.

Rumble

Artillery fire exploded behind him, ruins collapsed all around him, and the giant beast's footsteps shook the ground.

He did not dodge, but carried the glowing cross on his back and walked towards the mountain-sized black shadow.

Step by step, we walked in.

The fleeing people seemed to understand each other's purpose, and continued to run while silently praying.

May the Lord bless you.

The silhouette of the cross stretched out in the white light, appearing so small compared to the figure of the colossal beast.

Like light flowing against the current.

Chapter 143 Marda

Paris French Ministry of Defense

Looking at Tarask on the screen, who had already launched an unbridled attack.

Even from the aerial view alone, everyone could feel the terrifying sense of oppression.

They couldn't imagine what it would feel like to face it head-on.

The meeting room was filled with an almost suffocating atmosphere of oppression, with waves of gunfire coming from the loudspeakers almost without stopping.

Meanwhile, tank formations rained down shells and missiles on Tarask, one after another, as if they were free.

As the smoke cleared, Tarask continued his charge forward, completely unharmed.

Damn it!

At first, they thought they could cause damage simply by avoiding the tortoise shell on Tarask's back, but it turned out they had greatly underestimated its defenses.

The opponent seemed to possess the power to manipulate the earth, with layers of soil continuously spreading across his body.

The moment the firepower covered the enemy's body, the ground acted as an endless supply, sending energy upwards and rendering all attacks futile.

If we say that artillery shells are raindrops.

Then the other party is walking in the rain.

Nothing could stop him in the slightest.

"Missile ineffective."

"Failed to break through the opponent's outer scales."

As he listened to the reports coming in one after another on the communication channel, his tone grew increasingly heavy.

The liaison officer gripped the earpiece, his tone tinged with disbelief.

"This is simply outrageous! Although this guy isn't the worst elemental body, his skin and flesh are so thick that there's practically no difference."

"How are we supposed to fight this way?"

The meeting room fell silent instantly; no one answered, and the pressure intensified.

Charles forced himself to calm down. He sat in his chair, watching Tarasque move through the gunfire as if it were nothing, without saying a word, his fingers unconsciously groping for the armrests of the chair.

"What's the situation at the church now?"

"Due to the distance from the river, most of the residents have already been evacuated."

"What about the church?"

"I think I saw two priests leading Bishop Giovanni away..."

Suddenly, the analyst's astonished voice broke their discussion: "Wait a minute, doesn't that look like Bishop Paul? It seems like they're moving towards the front lines!"

"what?!"

Upon hearing this, Charles was speechless.

After all, he originally thought that the only person in the church who could intervene, Bishop Giovanni, had left, and he was prepared for the church to stop interfering.

Surprisingly, this church leader, Paul, who did not possess any extraordinary abilities, chose to go to the front lines.

"But why? Is it simply because..."

After the analyst pulled up the footage, he suddenly stood up.

"Wait a minute, look at that cross!"

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

Tarascon, west side of the ruins

"Hey, friend over there, don't go that way! The collapsed wall has smashed up the alley over there."

"Don't go east either, that's a dead end."

From the air, Wen Ban continuously directed the civilians below to evacuate in the correct direction.

After all, this was all he could do at that moment.

What can he do? Compared to other superhumans, his only advantage is his ability to fly.

[Hey presenter, look! Bishop Paul seems to have gone to the front lines!]

"what?"

Upon seeing the comments, Wenban instinctively turned the camera westward, and perhaps due to luck, the camera was instantly aimed at the target.

Then he saw the figure carrying a cross and going against the current.

"I remember this old bishop was just an ordinary person, wasn't he?"

[No way, he really seems to be heading that way. Is he crazy?]

[You should know that this is Tarasque, a legendary creature said to be subdued only by saints.]

Looking at the doubts in the comments, Wen Ban felt a mix of emotions. "Perhaps."

As he spoke, his eyes never left the figure, then his gaze suddenly fell on the cross: "Wait, do you see that cross is glowing?"

After all, it was still daytime, and the distance wasn't too close. Only Wen Ban's extraordinary visual abilities as a crow were enough to see it clearly.

While most birds have eyesight inferior to humans, crows are an exception, and can even see white light clearly.

It also benefits from the crow's tetrachromatic vision, a special structure that makes it more sensitive to color and change.

As he refocused, the comments section finally became clear and exploded with activity:

[It's actually true! Does the church have a backup plan?]

"No way? Look at his expression, he's clearly ready to die."

But what is his purpose?

I thought to myself, "That bishop isn't trying to emulate the legendary Saint Martha, is he?"

The sudden appearance of an "expert" in the comments surprised Wen Ban slightly, and the comments stopped scrolling, giving him the "stage".

Legend has it that Saint Martha tamed Tarasque. Since the cross glows, does it mean that Saint Martha's presence remains on it? Perhaps this could help Tarasque remember her and stop the rebellion?

"So this old bishop was gambling with his life? That's too much..."

Wen Ban instinctively felt incredulous, after all, this was a matter with almost no chance of survival...