Dolores ignored Zeke’s words and walked straight to the door.
Zeke brushed past her, smiling sinisterly.
“Then I’ll set off first.”
After Zeke disappeared around the corner of the corridor, Dolores didn’t knock; she directly pushed open the door in front of her.
Creak—
The heavy wooden door let out a low scraping sound.
Dolores walked inside.
This was a room with typical church design, very spacious.
On both sides of the room were several rows of dark, long wooden benches, where people usually came to pray.
At the far end of the room was a podium raised half a meter off the ground, and behind the podium stood a huge statue of a deity.
Behind the statue was a massive floor-to-ceiling window.
Dolores walked forward along the central aisle, passing the benches on both sides, and stopped about one-third of the way from the entrance.
She lifted her head and looked ahead.
In front of the massive window stood an old man with gray-white hair, dressed in Archbishop robes, his back straight.
This old man was the Archbishop of the Holy Radiance Church State, second only to the Pope.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze crossing the glass to look at the gloomy dusk approaching the courtyard, lost in thought.
Dolores watched the Archbishop’s back; her golden eyes, marked with crossed patterns, showed no emotional fluctuation.
Dolores spoke, her voice cold and childish, echoing in the empty church.
“Why wasn’t I assigned the task of hunting the Ice Snow Dragon and obtaining the power within its body to resist the Finality for the Goddess?”
The Archbishop did not turn around immediately, nor did he answer right away.
The room fell into a long, deathly silence.
Dolores didn’t urge him. She just stood quietly, like a delicate, emotionless doll.
After a long while, she spoke again.
“The expeditionary force heading to the Miracle Snowfield this time is led by only one Elder.”
“Given the Ice Snow Dragon’s level and destructive power, if I don’t go, there will be heavy casualties.”
As Dolores’s words fell, the room fell silent again.
Finally, the Archbishop slowly turned around.
His wrinkled face did not bear the dignity of a superior; instead, it wore an extremely complicated, almost morbid affection.
He looked at Dolores, his eyes full of indulgence.
“My dear daughter.”
The Archbishop’s voice was a bit hoarse.
“Daddy doesn’t want you to face dangerous situations.”
The Archbishop’s tone was as gentle as coaxing a baby.
“The Miracle Snowfield is too cold, and that beast is so ferocious. If you were hurt, Daddy would die of heartache.”
Dolores looked at the Archbishop, her eyes still without any ripple.
“But the expeditionary force will die in great numbers.”
Dolores stated the objective fact.
“So what?”
The affection on the Archbishop’s face gained a touch of cruelty.
“Dolores, please believe that Daddy has always deeply loved and cherished everything in this church state, including those Elders and deacons. They have all prepared to sacrifice themselves for the church state and for the gods.”
“It is their honor to sacrifice for a great cause. Even if it means sacrificing some innocent people, as long as my daughter can stay safe and sound in a warm castle, everything is worth it.”
Dolores was silent.
She knew that reasoning with this father, who regarded her as his supreme treasure with morbid indulgence, was futile.
In her father’s eyes, the lives of everyone in the entire church state, including his own, were not as important as a single strand of her hair.
Ever since her mother died when she was very young, her father had never touched her again.
The reason was clear: he didn’t want to defile his daughter’s body, not even a little.
But Dolores understood that this was not normal paternal love.
Her father only saw her as an incomparably beautiful work of art.
Dolores lowered her head slightly, turned around, and walked steadily toward the door.
The Archbishop watched Dolores’s back and smiled in satisfaction.
He turned back to look at the huge goddess statue standing before the window.
“Ah…”
The Archbishop’s voice was still hoarse.
“Great Primrose Goddess, please protect my daughter. For this, I can offer everything I currently cherish.”
Outside the door.
The moment Dolores walked out the door, a barely noticeable glint flickered in her golden eyes.
‘You won’t let me go, so I’ll go on my own.’
‘She couldn’t agree with her father’s view that everyone’s sacrifice was for the church state and for the gods, and therefore worthwhile.’
‘If danger can be avoided, why must it be endured?’
‘And… using the excuse of protecting his daughter.’
‘Too selfish.’
*
The biting wind of the Miracle Snowfield stung people’s faces, painful.
Large flakes of snow were whipped up by the gale, flailing wildly in the air.
Visibility was extremely low; even figures ten meters away could hardly be seen clearly.
The church state’s expeditionary force trudged forward with difficulty through the thick snow.
Leading the group was Augustus, one of the seven Elders of the Council of Elders.
He had full gray hair and a long gray beard on his chin, tousled by the snowy wind.
He wore the priest robes representing his Elder status: pure white base with intricate church state totems embroidered with gold thread on the edges.
Compared to the ordinary deacons with blue trim, this outfit stood out starkly in the wind and snow.
Augustus squinted his eyes and looked ahead into the wind and snow.
He held a staff inlaid with a huge blue magic crystal; with each step, the staff’s tip would poke a deep hole into the snow.
“Lord Elder, the wind and snow are too heavy. Everyone’s stamina is draining quickly.”
An adjutant in standard church state armor approached and shouted loudly.
The wind was too loud; if he didn’t shout at the top of his lungs, he wouldn’t be heard.
Augustus stopped and turned to look at the adjutant.
“The orders from His Holiness the Pope and the Archbishop are for us to find that beast, completely destroy it, and then obtain the power within its body that can help the Goddess resist the Finality.”
Augustus’s voice was not loud, but it was carried by magic, clearly reaching the adjutant’s ears.
“If we stop now, the people who died in the avalanche will have died in vain.”
The adjutant swallowed his saliva and dared not say more.
Augustus turned back and continued looking ahead.
The temperature in the Miracle Snowfield was low enough to freeze a person’s blood, and the deeper they went, the faster their magic power drained.
He could feel a highly turbulent ice magic element permeating the surrounding air.
Augustus stopped.
“Halt the entire force!”
The adjutant reacted quickly, immediately turning to shout toward the rear.
The long expeditionary force came to a halt instantly.
Only the howling of the wind and snow remained.
On Augustus’s left, right, and directly ahead were three huge phalanxes.
These were the church state’s elite sword-and-shield soldiers.
They wore heavy silver-white armor and carried half-man-tall tower shields.
The shield surfaces were painted with huge golden cross patterns.
Around those cross patterns were densely engraved rings of defensive magic runes.
These runes were usually dim, but when activated by magic, they emitted a faint luster.
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