It took Sister Dolores, the Steel Nun, no more than half an hour to bulldoze through a full quarter of Torrent City’s lower district. Everywhere she passed, every twisted, grotesque abomination was reduced to primal debris. Not a single monstrosity survived.

And the count only kept climbing as she advanced deeper into the sewers.

By the time word reached the Operations Hall, the war room that had once buzzed with activity was struck dumb with stunned silence. To be frank, most of the clergy stationed there were furious.

They had poured hours into drawing up meticulous strategies—not to win glory, but to prevent further chaos from spreading to the rest of Torrent City. Deals had been struck with secular authorities, forces coordinated, losses calculated to the minimum.

And the result?

Dolores barged in with nothing but her war axe and blind faith, smashed through every layer of defense, and simply walked through the enemy. Alone, she flattened the infestation of Root of Man as though swatting flies.

Worse still, it worked brilliantly.

It left the planners with a sour taste in their mouths, as if all their careful preparation had been fed to the dogs.

"What now?" someone finally muttered.

A junior priest, eyes wide and unfocused, stared at the map—now smeared crimson across a quarter of the lower district.

"For now, we can only entrust the rest to the Steel Nun," sighed another priest, already lowering his head back to unfinished battle intel.

"As long as the zone is purged, the destruction of our field plans doesn't matter anymore."

"Right. Let’s keep working."

Suddenly, a flash of radiant flame flickered across the divine array—Phoenix the Flame Warrior was forcibly joining the channel. His communication sorcery shimmered erratically through the divine relay.

Moments later, his voice, arrogant and booming, echoed through the sanctified space.

"What the hell was that explosion in my sector just now?"

"Reporting, Flame Warrior sir... that would be... Sister Dolores," replied one of the clergy, suppressing a twitch in their voice.

"I thought so. I’ve got new findings—start recording."

Phoenix didn’t sound surprised. He had likely guessed it already. With most elite combatants either reassigned or killed, the remaining roster from the Radiant Church was dangerously thin. Subtracting the few still active on the military’s side, there weren’t many left who could unleash that kind of devastation.

He proceeded to relay the intel he and Maria had gathered, and once again, the war room resumed its frantic pace. A freshly updated battle map was routed back to Phoenix within minutes.

Though slightly distorted by divine interference, the image was sharp enough for Maria.

The black-clad nun drew a scroll from the deep sleeves of her robe and unfurled it. Divine ink transferred the image onto the parchment—a new situational map, crimson bleeding over the now-purged areas.

Maria fell silent.

She knew Sister Dolores was powerful—but to chase a Root Serpent headlong and flatten everything in the process?

That took something else.

Dolores’s name rang far and wide. In version 1.0 of the timeline, she was the notorious boss of the Southwind Province chapter of the Radiant Church. Armed with unshakable zealotry, her signature skill burned away “evil units” by slicing a percentage of their soul integrity on contact.

She drove entire raid groups to despair.

Had it not been for the global event shift in the Ashen Flame patch, she might’ve singlehandedly wiped out all opposition in Southwind.

And now? Her power scaling felt like she was riding a plane compared to most players. Ridiculously fast.

"What's our next move?" Phoenix asked, having ended the call and burned a fresh scroll in the process. He turned toward his sharp-minded second-in-command.

“Any new orders from HQ?”

Without lifting her head, Maria dragged a curved red line across the scroll. Tyr, loitering at her side, suddenly squinted. That line looked very familiar.

Then it hit him—that was the attack route Maria had marked before they’d even deployed.

“She’s cutting off any Root of Man that tries to flee into adjacent zones,” Phoenix muttered, blinking in recognition.

Maria had read the new orders before they arrived. Typical.

“Too late now. This is our position… and here,” she pointed swiftly, “is the path that creature likely took while fleeing. And this—that’s where the Steel Nun is now. These other points are residual trails from other Root Serpents.”

Her pale, elegant fingers danced across the parchment, connecting lines with practiced ease.

Red dots marked their current location—right near the center of the conflict. No other team was better placed to intercept the escaping serpents.

“We can cut them off right here. If I’m right… they’ll converge in this area.”

Smart, as always. That traitor from the Kasath Reclamation Army wasn’t completely selling them out—he’d likely left a few cards up his sleeve to earn redemption.

Maria had read the game.

By analyzing the fleeing pattern of the Root Serpents, she estimated—with over 70% certainty—their rendezvous point.

And instead of letting the deserter claim the credit, she intended to intercept them herself.

She needed military merit badly. To trade for rare materials.

The balance of chaos and eldritch power inside her was like a dormant bomb—always on the verge of exploding. She had to keep it tempered.

And worst of all, the deeper she studied that unstable balance, the more likely she was to draw the gaze of those unknowable beings from the abyss.

MEANWHILE, IN THE MILITARY-CONTROLLED SECTOR—

Cerys’s once-immaculate officer’s uniform was now stained with grime and soot. Her proud, aristocratic face had turned a flushed red from prolonged exposure to steam pressure.

“All the Weavebinders are down in position. Can we trust him?”

Next to her stood a striking woman—long black hair, one monocle glinting, a notebook in hand. She gave off a refined aura that didn’t belong in this war-torn era.

“If he wants redemption, now’s the time. I believe him,” Cerys said confidently.

The scholarly officer hesitated, clearly harboring doubts, but seeing Cerys so certain, she bit her tongue.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, but in a world ruled by volatile NPC factions, nothing ever stayed predictable for long.

And behind every move of the Root of Man, there loomed the deeper arc of the main storyline—the silent rise of the Abyss.

“Get ready. We’re heading down too.”

“Huh? Do we really need to?”

“Of course we do. You think I’ll let him whitewash himself without my supervision?”

Cerys pulled on her officer’s cap, eyes fierce.

“Besides, if I want the support of the Church of Steam, I’ll need more battlefield glory. Without merit, even a noble can’t survive the army’s politics.”