The shrubs and weeds were compressed into a deep pit.

In the grass pit, the fallen Angel lay on the ground facing the two o'clock direction, bound firmly with flaming chains on both arms and hands.

Seven or eight witches, beautiful but ageless, surrounded the area, still observing curiously.

Although they were witches, it was the first time they witnessed a creature like an Angel descending, so naturally, they wanted to have a good look and appreciation.

As Horn limped over, the witches made way and even smiled.

Many of them were meeting Horn for the first time; they previously felt a little uncomfortable, but now that feeling of awkwardness had diminished a lot.

This so-called Horn was actually attacked by an Angel, which means he is officially recognized by the church as a demon.

This implies that the previous hints by the Saint's Grandson were not a trap; he was indeed covertly engaging in the secret party of rebellion under the guise of the Church of Miseria.

One of our own!

The witches each curtsied or nodded towards Horn: "Your Eminence."

Horn nodded to the left and right in return, and then approached the rare Angel under the witches' protection.

At this moment, the Angel was bound, with limbs broken, unable to attack anymore.

The Angel's face indeed had an elfin look, not necessarily more beautiful than humans, but definitely distinctive.

Horn had always thought the elongated faces of elves in murals were an exaggeration, but unexpectedly, they were real.

The Angel who came to assassinate him had an unusually long midface, a petite nose tip, porcelain-like skin, and eyes that were all white.

When the Angel opened her eyes earlier, they had a flashbang-like dazzling effect, but now, even though her eyes were wide open, the flash was gone.

Reflecting on how little the Angel used her abilities afterwards, it seemed likely that even such divine art had its usage limits.

From the cross-section of her broken left hand, the bones appeared to be jade-like, even somewhat translucent.

Horn merely poked the skin with the sword sheath, finding the touch resembling tough leather.

As for what flowed inside, it wasn't blood, but a kind of translucent fluorescent liquid.

Horn speculated that the Angel's skin and feathers glowed because of this fluorescent blood flowing within.

"Your Eminence." René, bruised and battered from stone debris, hurried over. "What do we do with this demon disguised as an Angel?"

"First, try to stop the bleeding, then have the witches guard it, monitoring its movements at all times." Horn turned to the complex-featured Louise, "You've dealt with Angel's heart blood before, I'll leave this matter to you."

Louise responded and went to gather people for the task.

René leaned in, "For the aftermath of this event, many people have heard the commotion here, including the loyalists..."

"No one can ruin my relationship with Mother, not even Mother." Horn whispered, and René understood completely within seconds.

"Understood, I'm on it."

Retrieving his gaze from the Angel, Horn's eyes involuntarily turned to Hilov.

Noticing Horn's gaze, Hilov first pricked up her ears unnaturally, staring at Horn.

But she realized Horn wasn't making eye contact with her; his gaze was lowered instead.

Following Horn's line of sight, Hilov lowered her head, her expressionless face blushing slightly.

She coughed lightly, using her fingers to pull together the deep-V neckline of her dress.

Jeanne, who had been checking her injuries, was initially puzzled, then quickly turned her head, glaring at Horn with embarrassment and anger: "What are you looking at?"

"Looking at you."

"Looking at me... looking at what?" The embarrassment faded, Jeanne spoke sternly, but at the end, she couldn't help but curve her lips slightly.

"Looking at what you don't have."

"What I don't have..." Repeating it, Jeanne's puzzled smile instantly turned to shame and annoyance, "I've recently been studying rhetoric and logic; do you think I wouldn't react like before?"

"Hmph, where's the accusative case after your sentence-ending preposition? And you claim to be studying rhetoric."

Initially, Jeanne wanted to hold back in front of everyone, but she couldn't help but laugh angrily: "You twisted your foot, huh? Come, let me set your bones straight."

"Hey, don't move..."

After Jeanne adjusted Horn's bones, he stood up with a pale face, moved his ankle, and found Jeanne's bone-setting was quite good.

Raising his head to find Hilov's figure again, he saw her dragging a prosthetic leg, arms spread for balance, like a child learning to walk, step by step walking towards the flower sea outside the Mechanical Palace.

Ordinary people couldn't understand Hilov's excitement; she had lived in the Mechanical Palace for twenty to thirty years, where everything was so familiar.

To her, this lavender flower sea, though separated by just a wall, was as distant as the cloud sea at the horizon.

So close yet unattainable.

How many times she could only watch from the terrace, but now she could walk into that flower sea herself.

She could touch, with her own hands, those soft purple petals.

Though Hilov's expression couldn't be seen, her upright ears and wagging tail indicated that the Wolf Woman was extremely excited.

Yet Horn frowned slightly, limping to the edge of the grass pit.

Picking up the Angel Sword from the ground, he weighed it in his hand, feeling an inexplicable familiarity.

This sword was not a simple single-handed war sword; its blade, crossguard, and hilt were forged as one.

The outer layer was covered with a layer of semi-transparent red crystal, and inside, a faint red metal could be vaguely seen.

If Horn's senses were correct, it was made of the same material as his Blood Covering Cloud - Red Steel.

It was as if in the previous battle at Grey Robe Valley, the Blood Knights were not so much chasing him as they were after his Red Steel Sword, Blood Covering Cloud.

Later it was confirmed that the Blood Knights indeed had a special pursuit for Red Steel, after all, their underlying technique was blood magic.

Yet the Angel's war sword was also a Red Steel Sword.

Horn thought carefully about the "Gospels" and various histories; it was never said Red Steel was a weapon exclusive to vampires, only that vampires preferred using this material for their weapons.

"Hey!"

Both hands wielding the Angel Sword, he slashed it into the nearby tree, creating a notch; the red crystal was sharper than imagined.

However, the slippery feel was perplexing as to how the Angel wielded it with ease.

He couldn't help but turn his head, looking at the dusty, disheveled Wolf Woman still trudging through the flower sea on a prosthetic leg.

Her tail spun like a propeller, scattering petals into the sky, which then drifted into a stream.

Happier than a playful puppy.

Horn watched the Wolf Woman with an indescribably complex expression, apparently Hilov hadn't noticed his earlier anomaly.

Possibly the excitement of being outside for the first time dulled the Wolf Woman's observation and alertness, or the playful banter with Jeanne successfully concealed it.

Sometimes he wondered if what he saw was an illusion, yet the scene remained vividly clear in his mind.

The two of them leapt over the wall, bodies suspended in the air, the war sword thrust by the Angel, the sword tip emerging from Hilov's chest...

Where the deep-V neckline was, there should have been a wound over an inch long.

Now that area of skin was smooth and tender, without a trace of blood or wound in the groove.

But Horn remembered what he saw in that wound.

A mechanical heart wrapped with blood vessels, made of countless tiny gears, adhered to flesh and fascia, continuously meshing and beating.

...…

Outside the Holy Seat City, Mount Gabriele.

In the magnificent grand hall, twelve Angel sculpted columns stood in order, supporting the triangular gabled roof.

At the end of the hall, on the altar, besides a bronze sarcophagus, were twelve white candles.

Behind the altar stood the sacred statue of the Saint Master.

Among the twelve candles, four had burned out over the millennium, and two others had been extinguished halfway by the wind.

Currently, the only burning candle swayed in the howling wind.

The wind atop the mountain roared fiercely, yet oddly couldn't extinguish that candle.

In the grand hall, dozens of high-ranking priests' eyes followed the flickering flame in unison.

In the eyes of the expectant yet fearful priests, the flame on the wick grew smaller and smaller.

When a strong gust blew, smoke arose, and the candle went out.

The monks responsible for watching the candles expressed no grief or joy: "Our Angel Liyuel has lost connection with the Holy Hall, her soul has returned to the embrace of the Saint Master."

Months of emaciation had left Puliano looking like a skeleton, his face ashen, swaying in the strong mountain wind.

"Blump—"

Puliano sat on the marble floor with a thud, the ground icy cold.