Chapter 364: Mortals Facing the Heretical God

"Suicide?!"

Kyle only felt a chill run down his back, fear gradually engulfing his heart.

So that was it. No wonder even though they had not killed the Followers of the Mother Goddess, the Compassionate Mother grew stronger and stronger. These followers, after realizing they could not offer themselves as sacrifices, all chose to commit suicide instead.

But, but… why?

Granny had said that the Compassionate Mother only accepted the voluntary sacrifice of her followers. Any trace of coercion would cause the ritual to fail. Were they all willing? So many people? They would rather die just to bring destruction upon this world?

Thinking of this, Kyle felt a chill creep down his spine.

Boom!

A massive limb came crashing down, sending rubble and splintered wood flying in all directions.

That mountain of flesh had chased them down again. Kyle had no time to think further and could only hurry to lead the Church Guard away in evasion.

The Compassionate Mother struck the ground in vain, missing these crawling little insects, but her harvest was not empty-handed. She lifted her hand, and the limbs that stretched out of her flesh seized corpse after corpse.

The corpses of the Followers of the Mother Goddess.

The grotesque and nauseating Compassionate Mother suddenly moved with uncharacteristic gentleness, carefully plucking out each corpse, placing it into her mouth, and swallowing. When she lifted her head again, her gaze toward them carried a deeper fury.

Devouring a few corpses did not make her body visibly larger, yet her consumption never ceased. The corpses of the Followers of the Mother Goddess seemed endless, always more rushing forth to their deaths.

Bit by bit, her growth became impossible to ignore. Her attacks grew harder to avoid, and her enormous body wrought terrifying destruction simply by moving.

On the battlefield, the Church Guard grew more chilled the longer they fought. A powerful monster was one thing, but the endless self-slaughter of the Mother Goddess’s followers—that was what truly filled them with dread.

These followers lined up in rows, one after another stepping forward to greet the bullets with their flesh. On their faces was neither fanaticism nor fear, only silence, like mute and stubborn stones.

And those stones built a towering wall of flesh and blood.

Though weak and frail, they stood in front of the Compassionate Mother, like worker bees protecting their queen.

The Church Guard’s fingers went numb on their triggers, but the followers before them did not waver. They pressed forward slowly, but with unyielding resolve.

"No, we can’t go on like this!" Kyle gritted his teeth and shouted, "Granny, we have to retreat!"

The Compassionate Mother was growing stronger at an accelerating pace. Though the Church Guard could still hold out, they were already dancing on the knife’s edge. If they did not withdraw now, they might never escape.

"What about the Cult of the Hidden!?" Kyle cried, frantic with worry.

Yet Granny, who had been supporting them from the battlefield, gave no answer. Just as Kyle steeled himself to retreat regardless of the cost, the sound of hoofbeats suddenly rang out from not far away.

Bang!

A gunshot cracked. The tiny bullet whistled into the Compassionate Mother, vanishing into her mass of flesh.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment. Both the Church Guard and the Compassionate Mother turned their eyes toward the other side of the battleground, where a cavalry unit was rounding the street corner into view.

"A little late, allies of Castel!" a loud voice rang out.

"The Prince?!" Kyle blurted out in shock.

This was the elite of the Harbor Guard. Though fear still lingered on their faces, they had come to the battlefield nonetheless.

At their head rode the Prince himself. The musket in his hand still smoked faintly, and he casually slid it into the holster at his waist.

One hand tugged at the reins, guiding his steed with practiced ease as he cut an arc across the Compassionate Mother’s front.

The Compassionate Mother’s gaze followed the Harbor Guard, giving the Church Guard a rare moment to breathe.

"Captain Kyle, isn’t… isn’t that the Prince? He actually came to the battlefield in person?"

Kyle gave no answer, for he too was astonished.

The Prince was, after all, a feudal lord. For Duke Tis’s heir to ride to battle in person?

This…

Kyle could not say whether it was courage or recklessness. He could only stare, stunned, as the Harbor Guard charged toward the Compassionate Mother.

They wore no armor—which made sense. On such a battlefield, armor was nothing but a burden. To go light was the only way to retain some agility.

Each soldier carried multiple muskets on their backs. The Church Guard’s bolt-action rifles needed only a new cartridge and a chambering before firing again, but muskets could not be reloaded so quickly. Clearly, they would never have the chance to reload while facing the Compassionate Mother, so they chose to bring several pre-loaded guns instead.

Yet Kyle was perplexed. Even with their bolt-action rifles, the Church Guard had failed to make progress. Why, then, did the Prince believe the Harbor Guard could succeed with muskets?

This cavalry unit was clearly elite. Some of their faces were pale, some teeth chattered uncontrollably, and some trembled with fear until their bodies went stiff. But even so, not a single one fell behind.

The Prince and Galahad charged in the lead, the soldiers close behind. The weapons in their hands looked like toys before the colossal mountain of flesh, yet they still clenched their jaws and pressed forward.

That scene burned itself into Kyle’s mind. He had once been nothing more than a factory laborer in Rhine, scoffing at all the pomp of noble knights. But now, watching the Prince take the lead on horseback, some indescribable feeling rose within him.

If it was alongside such a lord, then even if an evil god lay ahead, he too would dare to charge forward.

Even a coward like him.

Kyle began to understand why the Prince had come here.

The Church Guard had already fought countless battles against monsters, against the extraordinary, and side by side with the banshees. A strong enemy was still just an enemy—difficult to fight, nothing more.

But the Prince and the Harbor Guard, they were ordinary men.

The fiercest foes they had ever faced were dockside gangs or scattered cultists.

Now, before them, stood the Compassionate Mother—a true heretical god. And yet they charged as if against a mountain.

That the Harbor Guard had not collapsed into madness was proof enough of their unyielding will. And as for the fight itself?

Kyle’s gaze settled on the Prince.

This man seemed as though he never knew fear. Always, he charged at the front.

Though he held endless honors and wealth, he cast them aside without a thought, taking the battlefield himself and standing before his soldiers.

If the heretical god was an unmovable mountain, then he was the wall that shielded the men behind him from terror.

Fear, dread, prayers, despair—all those feelings melted away when his back came into view.

The Prince might be cruel, ruthless, and treat human lives like grass.

But here he was, leading mortals to face a heretical god.

And in that moment, Kyle suddenly understood: only with him here could the soldiers raise their weapons, only with him here did Blood Harbor hold even the faintest glimmer of hope.

But… where was hope to be found?

Before the Compassionate Mother, this cavalry unit was still nothing more than a swarm of slightly larger ants. Brave or cowardly, it was only a matter of the manner of their deaths.

Before all eyes, the Prince raised his gun as his horse thundered forward.