Xingyue, is Xiaokai also considered Kai?

Then they saw a creature with a crow's head and a human body pinned to the top of a steep, rocky mountain not far ahead, as if it were dead, by a sword.

This scene resembled a graveyard, and next to it was a wooden plaque with a line of text written on it:

Granzog Blackmore, the founder of the Dead Apostles, has been executed.

099: The Church's Malice

Lord Blackwing, Granzog Blackmoya, is the sixteenth of the twenty-seven Dead Apostles. He is extremely loyal to Zhu Yue. When serving Zhu Yue, he is more like a familiar than a Dead Apostle. He often runs around for Zhu Yue and is regarded in the Dead Apostle world as a Black Feather Beast Master who is similar to but not the noble White Wing Lord.

In terms of both strength and seniority, he is a disciple who is on par with Bai Yigong, the king of the disciples after Zhu Yue's death. Only the higher-ranking members of the twenty-seven ancestors can speak disrespectfully to him to his face.

But after Zhu Yue's death, in despair, he succumbed to destruction... that's how it should be.

However, the corpse of the dead apostle, which had been well preserved by the church using some unknown technique, still exuded a strong sense of resentment, as if it were unable to let go of its grievances.

This also shows that Blackwing Duke did not succumb to destruction in despair, but was completely suppressed and killed.

Moreover, upon approaching, Avia at the foot of the mountain finally saw clearly that the sword that had pinned the Blackwing Duke's corpse was the Church's conceptual weapon, the Black Key.

At the same time, he also saw a small village nearby, with a population of no more than thirty or forty people, including the elderly, children and adults. They were all skin and bones, covered in dust, thin, dressed in rags, and had lifeless eyes. It was no wonder that they could die at any moment. It was a veritable 'grave'.

The villagers stared at everything outside with fear and despair in their eyes, while the few men who looked like knights at the gate seemed to be preventing them from coming out. They looked at everything in the village with disgust, as if it were disgusting to them, and occasionally brandished their swords to threaten the villagers.

He burst out laughing whenever he saw a child crying because of this.

Avia suppressed her anger and, without alerting the enemy, headed towards the nearest church she had found along the way.

It was a simple church with ivy growing on its scale-like walls, surrounded by a tightly secured fence exuding a strong magical aura.

As the church doors opened, the interior space was surprisingly spacious, with high ceilings and impeccably clean, exuding a serene atmosphere.

This stands in stark contrast to the small village that resembles a tomb.

Although it was by no means luxurious, the benches and candlesticks were spotless, which showed the piety of the people who lived here.

"Who allowed you, magician, to enter our church without permission? Get out of here, you're not welcome."

Hearing the door open, a chubby middle-aged man dressed in priest's robes turned around and looked at Avia, who was dressed simply and exuded a magical aura but was not based on the Bible.

Perhaps it was because he saw that the boy didn't have anything good in his hands, or perhaps it was because of his identity as a magician, but in any case, his tone sounded so disdainful.

Moreover, rather than chubby, it would be more accurate to describe him as round-bodied. His extremely swollen body resembled a human-sized ball of fat, making it hard for Avia to believe that he was in the same place as the villagers of that village, and even a member of the church.

Come to think of it, this is Wales under church control, and as a priest of the church, he naturally cannot be mistreated.

"Isn't the door of the church open to everyone? Isn't that something that should have been known from the very beginning?"

Avia lifted her heels, straightened her body, and raised her prominent nose toward the bloated priest, as if piercing his very soul.

"Oh, that's true, please do as you please. But you magicians are not worthy of God's protection, you are not even close to it."

The priest with a thick, short neck moved his triple chin, which was more than double, his eyes full of disdain, making no attempt to hide his inexplicable pride. His cloudy eyes narrowed further and further before he slowly bent down.

“Anyone can offer prayers,” Avia continued. “I’m a little curious. There’s a village outside where the people clearly haven’t had enough to eat in a long time, and why doesn’t the church care? But someone like you could never be without food.”

More than three hundred years ago, in the fifty-fifth year, on May 19th,

The covenant established at the first ecumenical council when the church was formally founded

'We have always been a 'community,' and the 'community' of the Holy Church is established for each of its members, and for all those in the world who are suffering, unfortunate, and lost about the future; it was founded solely for humanity.'

"What? It's only been a little over three hundred years. You were a priest of the church, after all. Have you forgotten this phrase you were supposed to remember when you joined?"

"...Hahahaha! A mere magician dares to reprimand me and question my beliefs!"

The priest stroked his chin, smiled, and dismissed the matter.

"Of course I know, but do those people even deserve to be called human? They are nothing but lowly creatures in human form, their souls have long since fallen."

He grinned, revealing his teeth, and laughed loudly, causing his obese body to sway back and forth.

But seeing that Avia's expression remained unchanged, the priest continued:

"They call themselves the Brackmores, merely because they received favors from the Dead Apostles. They call themselves so shamelessly. So even though they look human, their souls have long been corrupted. I didn't kill them all immediately. Instead, I fed them food and let them fight over it. It's already a great favor that a few of them survived."

As Avia had guessed, that village was the village where the lineage of the tomb keepers of later generations lived. They were named after the magic that Blackwing had taught them, which allowed them to transform into crows. It was also the hometown of Gray, the second disciple of the Blackwing.

"Hmph! You magicians, I really don't know what use you are to the elders of the church. If it were me, I would have killed you all long ago, just like all the monsters in Britain. How can you be allowed to live in Landineum, a bunch of vermin that defile the world created by God? It can only be said that the elders are too kind."

Avia could tell that the priest was speaking from the heart.

He took a deep breath and continued:

"Kill all the monsters? How is that possible? How could the mysteries of all Britain be captured so easily?"

Although Avia hadn't encountered any magical beasts along the way, she simply thought she had been good at hiding. However, judging from the words of the priest in front of her, it seemed that wasn't the case.

"You didn't know? So it's a wild stink bug that no one raises, huh? Hahahahahaha."

The priest laughed and said,

"A few years ago, those ungrateful bastards actually tried to reach an agreement with the church, wanting to coexist peacefully. So the adults used a scheme to wipe them out in one fell swoop. This place is full of the blood of those beasts. Humph, there are even people who want to help those beasts. It's better that they're dead."

It was obvious that the priest was biased towards the church, but Avia could figure out what was going on.

The gist is that the church invited the Fantasykins from this land to reach a peaceful coexistence agreement, but it turned out to be a trap, killing all the Fantasykins who came to Wales. To this day, the smell of Fantasykins' blood, excrement, and rotten fruit has mixed together and permeated the land of Wales.

And presumably, Mary's parents were also...

Now, Avia recalls the village that was deliberately imprisoned, like people being domesticated as pets. Their faces are even more miserable than they were three hundred years ago, and it is not due to natural disasters, but purely man-made disasters, the malice of the Church.

He gave a weak smile, moved forward slightly, and a surge of magical energy locked onto the smug priest before him like a powerful force.

"Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing? What's going on? Power? How could I have power? I'm a priestess of the church! Do you magicians want to start a war? You don't have the strength. You wouldn't dare kill me. You could never kill me. The Cardinal of Wales would never let you go. How dare you, you disgusting maggot—"

The priest's cry in the face of death was answered by the arc of the spear that sliced ​​him in two.

Subsequently, the Huns, armed with guns and swords, ruthlessly burned down the church before attacking the Cardinal's residence in Wales.

100: The Killings in Brockshire

The weather is sunny in Brockshire, the westernmost part of Wales.

It was a magnificent cathedral with an exterior made of pure white marble and shimmering gold decorations.

The towering spire points straight to the blue sky, symbolizing the steadfastness and purity of faith.

Sunlight shines on the church's spire, making the golden decorations glitter and sparkle. The church windows are inlaid with colorful stained glass, through which sunlight shines, casting a dazzling array of colors and illuminating the entire interior of the church in a dreamlike way.

Through the windows of the cathedral, one can see that the city built around the cathedral is bathed in the setting sun, but this place is still filled with magnificent lights.

As time passed and night fell, the cardinal of the Church of England, dressed in a magnificent scarlet robe and wearing a golden episcopal crown, sat regally in the main seat of the banquet hall. The old man's face looked kind and solemn as he held silver cutlery and elegantly savored the food on the table.

He was the only person in the entire hall, as if it had been prepared solely for him.

Just as the old man was slowly savoring the food that cost enough to feed the entire village of Brakmoya for a year, a priest suddenly opened the door.

The bishop didn't look up, but merely frowned slightly, gripping his utensils with his aged fingers as he continued eating.

"Sir, the church in Brakmoya lost contact just a few hours ago..."

"Okay, I get it now."

With a casual "hmm," the cardinal picked up a piece of roasted meat, gently placed it in his mouth, closed his eyes, and savored the deliciousness of the meat and the skill of its roasting, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

“The priest of Brakmoya has abandoned his post. You will take over and bring him back to face punishment.”

The bishop wiped his mouth, got up and walked toward the house behind him. His body was already hunched over, and he needed to use a delicate cane to walk. His gait was slow but steady.

"Remember, the people in Brackmore have committed grave sins, but they cannot all die. At least one must live. As for how they live, just enough to survive is fine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

The cardinal's calm voice reached the ears of the priest who came to report, and he could only nod sincerely in agreement.

Then, the bishop's figure disappeared behind the magnificent gate.

The priest knew that it was the room where the church studied the fantasy species, and it contained the corpses of many fantasy species that had died in the past few years...

As for the claim that they were tricked into coming to be killed, none of the church personnel in Britain felt that such behavior was inappropriate. After all, it was for the sake of humanity, and besides, these guys weren't human, so it didn't matter.

As the cardinal entered the room, the first thing that caught his eye was a magnificent altar adorned with exquisite ritual vessels. On the background wall of the room was a huge mural depicting Christian saints, their figures so lifelike that they seemed to be telling stories of faith.

Tall pillars support the ceiling, their intricate patterns and designs perfectly complementing the room's overall décor. A magnificent mural on the ceiling depicts a scene of paradise, evoking a sense of endless tranquility and peace.

but--

There were water tanks everywhere, and various fantasy creature corpses inside the tanks.

Every now and then, humanoid creatures would turn into bubbles and disappear, replaced by a wisp of smoke-like substance on the central sacrificial vessel.

After the humanoid creature disappeared, a similarly sized and identical fantasy corpse appeared.

"Has that nightmare been dealt with?"

The cardinal stood in the center, his steady voice resounding throughout the room.

"Your Excellency, it's all taken care of. His magic has been completely drained, and his flesh has been cut off using a fixation magic technique and fed to the magical beasts."

"Where is that woman?"

"They've already burned to death."

"Yes, Not Bad."

Why would the high-ranking Cardinal ask such a question when he is one of the many fantasy species that have been killed or imprisoned?

The answer is simple: he had heard that humans had children with fantastical beings, and he couldn't accept this. In his view, this was no different from those who accepted the Dead Apostles; they were no longer worthy of being called human, but merely heretics in human form.

"It's a pity we couldn't get any information out of that bastard. We should kill these things as soon as possible, otherwise they'll tarnish our human bloodline—"

Just as the cardinal was speaking, he sensed a magical aura carrying with it anger.

As a cardinal appointed by the Pope, although he is old, he was a capable representative in his youth.

Located in Britain, he possesses the ability to sense emotions from the aura of magic.

Most of the people in the church exude a quiet, almost magical aura, like those in prayer, while a few are noisy and emanate a sorrowful, magical aura.

Anger? Is it a Dead Apostle or a Phantasmal? But to actually come knocking on our door like this, how arrogant of them...

As the cardinal pondered this, he vaguely sensed a wondrous magical power manifesting itself, seemingly emanating from the church itself, gradually appearing as if welcoming someone's arrival. The church, which should have been devoid of thought, seemed to come alive, radiating a magical power filled with piety...

"You guys continue, I'll go out and take a look."

Although confused, the old man reassured the people there before quickly going out to see who it was.

At the church's main entrance, the bas-reliefs on the exterior radiate a magical glow, presumably one of the magical features conceived when the church was first built.

However, a century has passed, and now who would dare to trespass here in the face of the Church's wrath? Whether they are Dead Apostles, magicians, or fantasy beings, they have all been ruthlessly slaughtered by the Church.

"........oh?"

Standing on the highest step, the cardinal looked down with surprise at the silver-haired man holding a sword and a gun.

In addition, a large group of people were gathered in front of that person, at the church gate.

Those were knights and their agents belonging to the church, numbering about a hundred, with more on their way.

These men, each armed with exquisite weapons, watched Avia as she approached.

"What brings you here?"

The lead knight called out in a low voice.

Avia remained silent, and her expression did not change at all.

His eyes, like blue glass, reflected nothing but the people and the church blocking his way, devoid of any emotion.

Then, the silver-haired youth simply brandished his sword and spear, saying each word clearly:

"kill."

The words, spoken softly, carried a heavy weight.

This remark almost made the cardinal burst out laughing, something he rarely did. Where was this place?

This is the Church's main branch in Britain. Even if the True Ancestor were to arrive, a mere human would not dare to provoke it so brazenly.