Chapter 351

[Translator - Peptobismol]

[Proofreader - Demon God]

Chapter 351

The searing heat melted the ground’s sand into a sludgy, viscous mass.

The molten sand bubbled and churned like lava.

This was one of Zeon’s skills—Sand Gehenna, the Furnace of Hell.

As the sand boiled like lava, it devoured the Awakened surrounding Zeon.

“Guh!”

“Damn it!”

“Get out of there!”

The paladins and Inquisitors panicked and tried to flee from Sand Gehenna’s radius. But Zeon didn’t let them escape.

KRKKKSHHH!

The swirling sands closed in, trapping them within the very heart of Sand Gehenna where they had tried to strike.

The Dark Saints and Inquisitors, lighter on their feet, were able to lift themselves into the air and narrowly escape. But the paladins—burdened by their heavy plate armor—had no such chance.

The sheer weight of their gear caused their legs to sink deeper into the lava-like sand.

For a moment, the resilience of their armor and their conjured Holy Shields allowed them to withstand the intense heat.

They struggled, trying to wrench themselves free from the molten trap, but the more they thrashed, the deeper they were dragged into the mire.

Ssssshhh!

Their armor began to melt.

No matter how reinforced, no armor could last long submerged in searing lava.

Eventually, the joints of the plate mail gave way, and scalding molten sand flooded into their suits.

The lava consumed the paladins’ flesh and bone.

“AAAAARGH!”

“Help me!”

Their screams tore through the battlefield as they writhed in unimaginable agony, dignity forgotten.

Ssssshhh!

The sound of melting flesh echoed from within their armor—sickening and vivid.

No one could imagine what it was like to hear your own body dissolve until they experienced it firsthand.

No matter how devout a paladin may be, no one could endure that kind of pain.

A quick death would have been a mercy—better than suffering this slow, horrifying destruction.

Because they possessed strength far beyond that of normal humans, their vitality also outlasted that of normal humans.

Which meant they had to remain conscious through pain that should have killed or knocked them out long ago.

“AAAAAAH!”

“ARGH!”

Agonizing screams from within Sand Gehenna echoed without end.

The Dark Saints and Inquisitors who had managed to flee could only stand in stunned silence, their hair standing on end.

Within the swirling wall of sand, horrors were unfolding.

They couldn’t even see it. Which only made the images conjured by their imagination more terrifying.

The wails that slipped through the storm made it worse.

“No… this can’t be…”

“Dear God…”

Even the Dark Saints and Inquisitors—the ones who inspired fear in others—were trembling.

They weren’t people who feared others. They were the ones who inflicted fear.

And yet they shook uncontrollably.

They had never felt anything like this before.

“Oh, Lord…”

“Lord Johan…”

The anguished cries of the paladins froze Johan’s expression into stone.

He didn’t need to see to know.

His faithful were being slaughtered inside that sandstorm.

Johan spoke.

“How…?”

He couldn’t understand.

He had unleashed every curse at his disposal.

Even the strongest Awakened should have been weakened under such conditions. But Zeon was unaffected—unleashing his full power as if the curses meant nothing.

“Does he have an item that negates curses…?”

Johan bit down on his lip.

Blood trickled from the torn flesh, but he had no mind for pain.

Even now, the shrieks of his paladins were piercing his ears.

Johan barked an order to the Dark Saints and Inquisitors.

“What are you waiting for?! Go save the paladins! Pull your comrades from Satan’s grasp! The blessing of God shall protect you—go!”

At Johan’s command, conviction returned to their faces.

Though briefly daunted by Zeon’s overwhelming power, these were fanatics—more than willing to die for Johan’s will.

Ashamed of their earlier hesitation, they turned that shame into rage—and threw themselves into the sandstorm.

“Die, heretic!”

“Woooaaah!”

SHRAAAK!

They charged through the sandstorm toward Zeon.

Through the haze, they could see the hellscape—the paladins’ bodies melting in lava.

Most had already perished, half-submerged in the molten sand. But a few were still alive, groaning in unbearable pain.

“May you rest in heaven…”

“Damn it…”

Swallowing tears, the Inquisitors and Dark Saints ended their comrades’ suffering with their own hands.

The paladins, even in their final moments, showed no resentment—only gratitude for the mercy.

“Zeon! I’ll rip you to pieces!”

“Cursed Sand Mage! You’ll die a wretched death!”

They stepped over the charred remains of their brethren and charged toward Zeon.

At the eye of the storm, Zeon stood wielding a massive scythe.

It was the Reaper’s Scythe—taken from the Grim Reaper he had once slain.

Thanks to this weapon, Zeon had nullified Johan’s barrage of curses. But the cost was steep.

An immense backlash coursed through his body.

Grinding his teeth, Zeon shoved the Reaper’s Scythe back into his subspace.

It wasn’t a weapon that could be used for long.

Once stowed, the backlash eased slightly.

SHWAAA!

Just then, the Inquisitors and Dark Saints launched another assault.

A torrent of chain sickles and skills rained down.

There seemed no escape.

But Zeon’s body shot upward into the air—lifted by the very sand beneath him.

He soared above the battlefield, evading the onslaught.

From high above, Zeon looked down on the Inquisitors and Dark Saints.

In that moment, he resembled a god—or a devil.

The Inquisitors and Dark Saints leapt over the paladins’ corpses, aiming for Zeon.

SHRIEK!

They closed the distance at terrifying speed.

Their eyes met in midair.

From their gaze, Zeon read a ferocious killing intent.

They would stop at nothing to end him.

But in Zeon’s eyes, there was no emotion.

His blank stare was as if looking at mere objects—devoid of humanity.

It sent chills down their spines.

Then, in a low voice, Zeon spoke.

“Sand Storm.”

KRAAAAAASH!

The swirling sandstorm intensified—its rotation growing several times faster, several times larger.

The sand that had settled across the slums was swept into the vortex, joined by sand from the desert beyond.

In moments, the storm became a monstrous tornado.

The sheer magnitude left everyone speechless.

KRUUUUUUHH!

The enormous sandstorm, darkening the sky, swept through the battlefield and devoured those who had rushed at Zeon.

“Hmph! It’s just sand—”

The Inquisitors tried to reinforce their Holy Shields.

They believed their shields would protect them inside the storm.

But that hope shattered instantly.

CLANG!

Unable to withstand the pressure, the shields shattered like brittle glass.

And then—the storm shredded them.

The storm’s pressure tore through their flesh with microscopic sand particles.

Their skin ripped apart. Muscles were ground to pulp.

“Lord… help us…”

“Aaaaargh!”

They screamed in pain—but no answer came.

The Inquisitor at the front turned to bloody sand and vanished.

The others, seeing this, hurled their chain sickles with every ounce of strength they had left.

Even if they died—they would drag Zeon to hell with them.

SHRAK! SHHK!

Chain sickles flew like lightning.

Zeon raised his right hand—clad in his ultra-heated gauntlet—toward the sky and murmured,

“Fire Rain.”

FOOOSH!

Instantly, fire rained down from the heavens.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

The inferno intercepted the sickles and scorched the Inquisitors and Dark Saints alike.

Already being shredded by the storm, they couldn’t withstand the flames.

“AAARGH!”

“Aaack!”

Like flies struck with pesticide, they dropped from the sky.

THUD! CRACK!

Slammed into the ground, they died on impact—bodies crushed beyond recognition.

Hundreds of lives vanished just like that.

Even then, those near Johan didn’t understand what had happened.

The sandstorm had blocked their view.

SHWOOOSH—

Then, as if it had all been a lie, the giant sandstorm began to fade.

The sand that had darkened the sky blew away toward the desert.

And Zeon was revealed—hovering in the air.

None of the Inquisitors or Dark Saints who had attacked remained.

Even the final traces of their bodies were buried under the sand.

But it wasn’t difficult to guess what had happened.

Everyone knew.

Johan, Dongdaemun’s surviving forces, even the slum onlookers.

Everyone knew that something horrifying had taken place within that storm.

The paladins, Inquisitors, and Dark Saints had vanished without leaving behind even a single intact corpse.

And it had all happened in less than ten minutes.

Only one man could cause such devastation.

Zeon—standing alone in midair, balanced on a platform of sand.

Johan’s eyes twitched.

“You beast… You spawn of Satan…”

Even he hadn’t imagined that, after deploying paladins, Dark Saints, and Inquisitors, they still wouldn’t be able to handle one man.

And Zeon, suspended in the air, didn’t even have a scratch on him.

He had devoured hundreds of lives and come away untouched.

That frightened Johan.

For the first time in his life, he felt fear.

He had never thought it possible—to feel such dread not toward a god, but toward another human.

Chills ran through his body.

Every hair stood on end.

His muscles spasmed. His breathing turned ragged. He felt like vomiting.

But Johan fought to suppress those reactions.

He trembled, yes—but he was the head of the Church.

If he, the leader, collapsed, then the rest of the faithful would scatter like sand.

And with that, Dongdaemun would fall.

That outcome had to be avoided at all costs.

He had lost all his troops in a single moment of miscalculation, but as long as he remained standing, Dongdaemun could rise again.

He finally opened his mouth.

“Let’s negotiate.”

“Negotiate?”

“Yes. Let’s resolve this like civilized people—through dialogue.”

Johan looked up at Zeon with anxious eyes.

Zeon looked down and thought how pathetic he appeared.

The self-proclaimed agent of God was now reduced to begging.

His trembling fingertips, his ragged breaths—everything betrayed his desperation.

Zeon shook his head.

“I may be civilized—but I have no intention of talking to you.”

[Translator - Peptobismol]

[Proofreader - Demon God]