On the other side of the collapsed area, thirteen people stood. Although the cave-in had indeed wiped out over ninety percent of the Holy Blessing Society's cultists, a few fish had still slipped through the net.
These were the cultists from the Holy Blessing Society's “main altar,” where Cyril and his mentor had been stationed. The moment they realized the cavern was about to collapse, they had immediately evacuated through a secret passage in the back. Naturally, an underground facility would never have just a single entrance and exit—that would be far too dangerous.
Now, as they stared at their completely ruined base, every single one of them wore an expression of sheer bewilderment mixed with shock.
Cyril muttered under his breath, “Huh? Why...?”
Everything had been fine just a moment ago! What on earth had happened?
His mentor, the leader of the Holy Blessing Society, was equally dazed. “Did Special Service launch an attack?”
Just then, both of them spotted War Freya flying out from the collapsed zone. The cult leader didn't even need to think—the culprit was right there!
As for Cyril, he caught sight of David clinging to War Freya and blurted out, “David?! What is he doing here?”
Hearing this, the cult leader turned to Cyril, his expression twisting in terrifying fury. “So... you're the one who brought them here?”
Cyril broke into a cold sweat instantly, stammering, “Th-This... I...”
The cult leader's face turned as dark as ink. Regardless of the reason, the plan he had spent months preparing—to awaken the Earthly Curse—was now completely ruined. “Damn it! Kill them!”
Driven perhaps by guilt, Cyril was the first to charge forward. A standard Rank Four Diviner possessed very little direct combat ability, but Cyril was different. As a Curse Diviner, the powers of the Curse Pathway largely compensated for that weakness.
Pressing his palms together as he sprinted forward, Cyril released a surge of spirituality from his body.
War Freya knitted her brows slightly. Her perception of spirituality was quite poor, leaving her with no idea what Cyril was doing, but there was no doubt he was activating an ability.
War Freya said to the people beside her, “Fall back first!”
At the same time, she flew straight toward Cyril. In the very next second, War Freya felt as though something was blocking her path—as if invisible, unseen arms were grabbing her wrists and ankles, and strangling her neck.
However, this only slowed her flight speed by a tiny fraction; it couldn't actually stop her. War Freya simply ignored the pulling of these arms and pushed ahead.
Or rather, she had no choice but to ignore them. She tried throwing a punch at the air in front of her and twisting her body to shake off the grip, but it was useless—she couldn't make physical contact with these “arms” at all.
Hands of Curse—a Rank Four ability of the Curse Pathway that summoned intangible, invisible arms to attack the enemy. Made entirely of spirituality, these arms were essentially a curse, making them extremely difficult to counter.
It was undeniably a powerful ability, and against extraordinaries of other Pathways, it might have been devastating. Against War Freya, however, it was hardly effective.
Though it couldn't be countered, its attack power had a limit. Unfortunately for Cyril, even if War Freya stood completely still and let these cursed hands strangle her, they wouldn't have enough force to kill her.
What good were high-tier mechanics if the numbers weren't there? If you couldn't break through her defense, it was still useless.
Seeing her continue her flight toward him barely slowed down, Cyril's eyes widened in horror. “How is this possible?!”
Gritting his teeth, he squeezed out even more spirituality. From Cyril's perspective, more and more cursed hands materialized, weaving into a massive spiderweb. Was War Freya a moth about to fall into a spiderweb?
No, not a moth—an eagle. Even the densest spiderweb couldn't hope to trap a bird of prey in full dive.
War Freya's speed barely waned. In just a few breaths, she closed the distance and threw a direct straight punch. Flying at high speed made the strike hit with even greater impact.
Cyril tried to dodge, but it was already too late. With a sharp crack, the entire right side of his upper body—from shoulder to chest—exploded into mist. He flew backward like a shattered ragdoll.
Without missing a beat, War Freya flew straight toward the remaining cultists. At their leader's command, the rest of the cultists launched a flurry of attacks toward her.
However, these minions were only around Rank Three, and all belonged to the Cursed Death Pathway. The last of the Four Great Protectors did not seem to be at the Holy Blessing Society's headquarters.
The previous three Protectors had been dispatched effortlessly by War Freya, to say nothing of these Rank Three grunts. In fact, War Freya wasn't even aware of the whole “Four Great Protectors” setup; in her eyes, these grunts were no different from Cyril, the purple-haired woman, or Tarik—they all died in a single hit.
Still, clearing out these small fry took a bit of effort. They kept spamming the Death Ray ability, and since War Freya had no desire to lose any more clothes, she had to dodge carefully, which inevitably slowed down her killing speed.
Even so, it took barely a minute. The moment she finished off the last cultist grunt, she looked up at the sole survivor—the leader of the Holy Blessing Society—who was staring right back at her. Their eyes met in midair.
The cult leader said, “Truly terrifying strength... A Rank Five Warrior? Regardless, my preparations are complete.”
As he spoke, the cult leader raised his right hand into the air, clenching his fist with the back of his hand facing outward. War Freya watched as dense, intricate purple markings slowly surfaced on his skin. Calmly, the leader uttered, “Curse of Myriad Recompense!”
Boom!!!
In an instant, beams of purple light burst through the soil, soaring straight into the sky before converging directly above the cult leader's head.
War Freya keenly noticed that these purple beams hadn't appeared out of thin air. From Cyril, whom she had just killed, to the Rank Three cultist grunts, every single corpse was spouting a pillar of purple light.
There was even a Rank Three grunt who hadn't quite breathed his last, but the moment the cult leader invoked the ability, the grunt's eyes rolled back, foam spilled from his mouth, and his body rapidly shriveled up like a plant drained of water.
Based on this, it wasn't hard to guess that the purple light beams bursting out from underground were erupting from the corpses of all the cultists buried alive below.
Every ounce of curse power from every member of the Holy Blessing Society was converging upon their leader at this very moment!
...
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