Chapter Fifty-Seven: Another Instant Kill!

Today, something rather amusing happened. Apparently, someone impersonated me and went into another author’s group to badmouth their book. Some of the readers in that group actually believed it was me, and then came over to attack me. I explained that it had nothing to do with me, yet this obvious frame-up was still taken seriously by some, who insisted it was my doing and launched into a tirade against me. At first, I was a little angry, but after a moment I found myself laughing instead. Really, their reaction was just too juvenile—probably no older than sixteen. It’s impossible to stay angry with a child like that. I won’t name names or mention which book was involved; as I’ve always said, taking such things seriously is pointless.

——

In an instant, those who had begun to look at the Church of the Divine Father with new respect after Saga’s stunning performance now dismissed it once more. The score was one to two, trailing by two matches, and among the two remaining members of the Church of the Divine Father, Lingmeng appeared to be nothing more than a filler—a perfectly ordinary person destined to be defeated in the blink of an eye. Link’s strength was hidden, but his opponent was bound to be Amon. And who was Amon? A renowned master, a mid-tier third-rank mage of immense power, with many hidden cards unknown to outsiders. Even the dazzling Saga might not be a match for him, let alone Link.

To the audience, it was obvious that Saga was the strongest of the Church of the Divine Father; otherwise, why would they entrust him with their precious magisteel equipment? There are plenty of faiths where the followers outshine their leader—clearly, this was one of them. Thus, no matter how one looked at it, the Church of the Divine Father seemed doomed. Fence-sitters among the crowd gleefully made their opinions known, while some members of other churches even began openly trying to lure Saga away, promising him generous treatment should he join their ranks.

Saga didn’t spare them so much as a glance, maintaining a cold, aloof demeanor with eyes closed throughout. Elia and Aeolus, meanwhile, understood that this predicament was their doing; their hearts were filled with both anger and guilt. But they had long since been counseled by Link, and so felt no discouragement—only defiance and resolve. Their eyes seemed to say that by the next All Gods’ Festival, they would return in strength and force those who now looked down on them to reconsider.

When Lingmeng stepped onto the field, people thought Link had forfeited, sending a mere pretty face to be sacrificed. Many began to curse Link as shameless and unmanly, accusing him of hiding behind a girl and forcing her to suffer in his stead. Even in defeat, they said, a man should act like a man. At the same time, many men gazed at Lingmeng with lascivious eyes, and some nearby noble scions even went so far as to comfort her in a syrupy tone, urging her not to suffer for the Church of the Divine Father and to come to them instead for warmth and care.

Assailed by this cacophony, Lingmeng frowned, clearly annoyed. Her opponent was in for a misfortune. As the duel began, Lingmeng calmly unleashed her Yin-Yang Orb, which immediately expanded to a five-meter radius and slammed down on her adversary, flattening them into the ground and knocking them senseless.

She then retrieved the Yin-Yang Orb, yawned, and addressed the host, “Referee, I believe this duel counts as my victory?”

The host jolted, looked at Lingmeng as if witnessing the supernatural, then glanced at the poor soul squashed into the earth. At last, he nodded, stammering, “The—The winner of this contest is Miss Lingmeng of the Church of the Divine Father.”

Lingmeng stretched lazily and walked back to her seat.

It was only then that the crowd snapped out of their stupor, the sound of collective gasps filling the arena. Many in the front rows shrank back, unable to meet Lingmeng’s eyes—these were the very same men who had tried to tease her earlier. Yet even more people couldn’t help but cheer for Lingmeng; her overwhelming display had won their admiration, regardless of gender. Her popularity now eclipsed even that of Saga.

Still, Lingmeng’s temperament was a thousandfold more aloof than Saga’s. She treated the cheers as nothing more than wind, not even deigning to look around. She returned and closed her eyes to rest. Far from alienating the crowd, this only enhanced her image as a proud and powerful ice queen, a figure both men and women found irresistible.

Link watched all this, thinking to himself: if they knew her real personality, would they be so disillusioned as to throw themselves into the river? After amusing himself with this thought, Link turned to offer a few words of congratulations to Lingmeng, who replied half-heartedly. Seeing this, Link said no more and stepped forward.

This signaled the start of the final showdown of the tournament.

No one had expected that the contest would come down to the fifth bout, nor that, after what had happened, no one would dare underestimate the mysterious founder of the Church of the Divine Father. Despite his youth, he was now viewed with new eyes. After all, Lingmeng and Saga, clearly younger than Link, were his subordinates. It might be considered luck to have one formidable follower, but two? To command not one but several powerful aides—how weak could their leader possibly be?

Many in the audience now looked forward to Link’s performance, hoping to see an underdog’s spectacular comeback, though most still favored and supported Amon. Decades of Amon’s reputation could not be erased by a few duels, and though the Star God Church’s followers had fared poorly, no one doubted Amon’s strength.

Amon strode onto the stage with a dark expression. Link’s lips curled into a brilliant smile as he called out, “Well now, Archbishop Amon, it seems we leaders must settle this ourselves in the end. Had I known, I wouldn’t have let our followers fight each other—what a waste of time, wouldn’t you say?”

Amon’s face grew even darker. Link’s words were a slap in the face—after all, the Star God Church had suffered heavy losses, their future pillars ruined, and even their treasured relics smashed to scrap. Even if he returned home safely, he would surely be punished by the church and made to atone for today’s disgrace.

The thought filled Amon’s eyes with naked fury and hatred—he wished nothing more than to tear Link limb from limb and drink his blood. Not even all the water in the four seas could wash away his enmity. Amon knew that defeating Link was his last chance—only by winning the duel and seizing all that belonged to the Church of the Divine Father could he redeem himself and preserve his life and position.

Taking a deep breath, Amon forced himself to remain calm and said in a cold voice, “Neil Night, don’t celebrate too soon. I’ve already obtained your information from the Temple of the Mad God. You may be strong, but you’re only an early-stage third-rank. I, however, am no longer mid-stage third-rank!”

With that, Amon’s magical power erupted—he was late-stage third-rank. Clearly, he had broken through the bottleneck before the All Gods’ Festival.

As Amon unleashed his full strength, over ninety percent of the audience erupted in astonishment. Some had thought Link might have a chance, but when they saw Amon’s breakthrough, their hopes faded. As archbishop of the Star God Church, Amon would surely possess formidable equipment. If he revealed his full arsenal, even an early fourth-rank might not win, let alone a boy of not yet seventeen. No one believed a youth could possess fourth-rank combat power.

Link’s smile faded, replaced by a grave expression. Seeing this, Amon thought Link was afraid, and sneered coldly, continuing to taunt him, “Neil Night, I know you’re a fire mage and have mastered the Celestial Finger, but I just happen to be an earth mage—your magic is completely countered by mine. With your amateur skills, you’ll never break through my defenses!”

Link remained silent, his face serious, heightening the tension in the air and making even those previously indifferent begin to feel nervous.

The instant the host announced the start of the final battle, Link suddenly stamped the ground and shot forward like a cannonball. The force of his charge was nothing like his usual gentle demeanor—he was more like a warrior leading a charge, startling even Amon.

But Amon quickly regained his composure, a sly smile on his lips as he shouted, “Earth Wall!” A thick wall of earth, over twenty centimeters thick, sprang up before him. Though not as sturdy as reinforced concrete, it was no ordinary spell, nor could it easily be shattered by mundane martial or magical arts. This spell, too, was not one that could be cast in an instant—Amon had clearly prepared the incantation in secret.

From the start, Amon had guessed that in such a desperate situation, Link would likely use a surprise attack—so he was ready. He didn’t believe Link could break through the wall and prepared to mock him as soon as he crashed into it or was forced to stop.

However, the result was not at all as Amon had expected. Instead, as Link approached the wall, he did not stop or collide with it, but punched straight through.

At that moment, Link unleashed the full power of his ten-layered internal energy. Although his Nine Yang Divine Skill was incomplete, its explosive force was legendary, surpassing most inner skills of the martial world.

It was not a matter of technique, but sheer, unmitigated strength. As his fist struck the wall, it exploded with a roar, and in the next instant, as Amon’s expression turned from joy to horror, Link extended his index and middle fingers, sending a deadly burst of energy flying like lightning—his Sunlight Finger.

With ten layers of energy and the support of the Nine Yang Divine Skill’s explosive force, this strike rivaled the full power of Master Yideng from the world of the Condor Heroes. In terms of modern weaponry, it was akin to a shot from an AK-47.

In Sora’s world, people are strong—most are protected by battle qi or magical force, making them resistant to ordinary weapons. But what about a Sunlight Finger, as powerful as a bullet? Perhaps some true masters could withstand it, but Amon was not one of them.

Though a third-rank mage, Amon’s physical defense was not high. He wore fine equipment, but Link’s strike was both sudden and overwhelming. The finger shot straight for Amon’s brow, and he toppled backward, a look of shock frozen on his face, a bloody hole at his brow shocking all who saw it.

Link slowly withdrew his right hand, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed coldly at Amon’s corpse, his expression proud and aloof. The atmosphere was so imposing that even the oldest veterans in attendance were struck speechless.