William Black woke up from his sleep, cold sweat soaking his pajamas, and the cold wind of the night shivered through the open window.

He had a terrible dream in which he was standing in the far east, surrounded by charred black corpses, all with pained expressions, facing north, as if he had been tortured by purgatory before he died.

The snow was filled with swords, and the falling snow obscured their bodies.

The frantic roar made William Black involuntarily look up and see the nightmare he would never forget.

A red dragon that covered the sky and the sun spread its huge wings and cast a huge shadow on the snowy peak. He was like a monster shrouded in the earth, his jaw still chewing, as if contentedly devouring the souls of these poor creatures. Flames of sin erupted from his nose, flames erupting from his violent throat that melted the white snow, revealing the soft black soil beneath the permafrost.

Click, click.

The sharp and piercing sound of teeth grinding echoed in his ears, and he happened to notice the red dragon's tyrannical and frantic eyes slowly drooping as he looked at him.

The sky was filled with lightning and thunder, and a man slowly transformed into a demon in the midst of a hellish scene.

He finally heard the whispers that lingered in his ears.

"God Is Dead......

At that moment, William Black felt like his heart had stopped stirring.

It's like the abyss is staring at itself, and he's just weak and powerless.

There was also a low whisper that burrowed into William Black's sleep.

As he recovered from his fantasies, Blake took a deep breath, and he felt that the dream was like some ominous prophecy.

At this time, the whole Hanoverian dynasty was in a prosperous era, and the white light of the moon shrouded the silent city, and the soft moon hung above the towering bell tower, and the moonlight slanted down, just over the white canvas in front of the window.

William Blake's eyes were fixed on the blank space, and then he hurried to the easel, picking up the palette and brush with trembling hands, trying to vent what he saw in his sleep onto the canvas.

Every scarlet dye proclaimed the horror of nightmares, which gave him endless inspiration to squander his talents. Until the moon and the stars said goodbye to him, the first rays of dawn tilted over the painting he had just finished.

The soul that is transforming and being reborn spreads its huge thick fleshy membrane wings, and the scarlet color heralds the birth of a new monster.

Greedy, tyrannical, yet shrouded in pillars of white light that fell from the sky.

Revelation 12:3 and 4.

"And there was a vision in heaven, and there was a great red dragon with seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns on seven heads. His tail dragged a third of the stars in the sky and threw him to the ground. ”

The palette in his hand fell to the ground, and the paint splattered on his feet.

An abyssally evil existence.

A great red dragon.

William Black was unaware of the abstract scene he dreamed of, which was taking place in the Far North. As Ivan had promised Lawrence, he needed a witness to announce to the Holy See the official return of the heir to the royal family, who had been in hiding for nearly twenty years.

Ivan stared at Lawrence's distant back and did not speak, he passed through the corpses that knelt on the snow, charred by the thunder and fire, and still maintained the painful twisted struggle before dying, his arms stretched forward, and his face painfully prayed for the liberation of the sinned soul.

Sparks swirled around the charred corpses, cracked textures glistening with embers that hadn't yet burned out. Mortally wounded, Lawrence walked through the hellish scene alone.

His heart had gone from fear to numbness, passing through those souls who were burning and struggling in the sea of fire, as if he had passed through a piece of hell.

Linus waited for three days in the fortress of Alassas, and with a double-digit number of white-gloved clerics and the elite of the Holy Crossers, even the Vikings in the north who knew how to wield only prisoners of war and two-handed swords were not to be feared. However, for three days, he did not receive any reply.

Each time the sun rose, the worry between Linus's brows deepened.

The fortress town that had taken hundreds of years to build was now in ruins, and after Gregory's death, Linus took his place and continued to defend the fortress. However, this fortress, which has been shrouded in holy light all year round, is now as if it has been drained of its soul, and it is lifeless.

Dark clouds obscured the daylight, dark shadows everywhere, and the newly erected stone monuments filled the cemetery, so that in the end some people had to be buried outside the fortress.

Linus stood at the top of the fortress, looking at the mountains in the distance, his expression silent. As the sun rose on the fourth day, he finally saw a small black dot appear in the snow-white mountains in the distance, slowly moving in the direction of the Alassas fortress.

Linus's expression was slightly moved, and it was obvious that things were unexpected. With a wave of his hand, he instructed the soldiers behind him, "Save people." ”

By the time he saw the Fortress of Alassas appear at the end of his vision, Lawrence had lost the last of his strength and fell to the snow, and then faintly heard the shouts of the soldiers.

There is also a dazzling red dress in the snow.

Linus crouched in front of Lawrence, the commander of the Guards no longer had the heroism of four days before, and his full beard could barely hide the purple-blue frostbite and the scars of the sharp branches cutting through his skin, and he seemed to have made a long escape through the forests and mountains.

However, the cardinal did not care about Lawrence's life or death at all, he only wanted to know the whereabouts of the incident.

What can make the Imperial Legion Captain run back alone in despair must be a tricky event that needs to alarm the Pope.

"What about my White Glove Priesthood?"

Linus almost grabbed Lawnes by the shoulder and roared. He thought that even if the Holy Crosses were sent to their deaths, the White Gloves would still be able to escape, but Lawrence was the only one who returned.

At this point, Lawrence seemed indifferent to Linus's words, as if his soul was no longer in the shell.

His ears were still the agonizing wails of the Holy Crusaders before they died, and the cold, expressionless face.

Before finally losing consciousness, Lawrence raised his hand and handed the two playing cards in his hand to the cardinal, his eyes full of tiredness. Before he could break down, he leaned in and whispered something incomprehensible in Archbishop Linus's ear.

"Run, the devil is coming. ”