"This must be a joke; these lunatics who only want to sacrifice people in sick rituals to summon minions of evil gods," Dylan said to himself in his mind.
He quickly drank his coffee and finished his white bread, acting quickly but not excessively so as not to alert the "Cursed Prophet."
Dylan, who had read the novel, understood that the Cursed Prophets hated the clergy who belonged to the kingdom's official religions. Since he was wearing a Rising Sun missionary robe, he decided it was best to leave the city.
A few minutes later, he walked out of the city, using a different exit, because it would be strange for a missionary to return by the same route he had already taken.
He began walking along a new stone path, and after several hours of walking, because he preferred to walk rather than levitate so as not to attract unwanted attention, he reached a part of the road that was not yet paved.
He continued walking along the now dirt road.
"Hmm, I didn't read anything in the novel about a calamitous event in Cruzeref County. What's going on?" As Dylan wandered without finding clear answers, the sun was about to set.
Evil gods. Dylan used that term more often because, according to the novel he had read, not all of the primordial beings were vicious evildoers who craved destruction, but the reality was cruel: most of the primordial beings who still survived were the cruelest and most vicious ones, whom the religious called evil gods.
The terrain around the road was quite uneven, with some hills, some trees, flat land, and other areas with tall grass, but he continued walking until almost midnight.
Near a tree, on the side of the road, Dylan made a fire and sat down on a chair he took out of his magic ring.
As he stoked the fire, he was still wearing his white robe and hood.
"Hmm, an ordinary missionary would have sat on a rock or a piece of an old tree," said a sinister voice full of evil and murderous intent.
"I thought you would get bored, but in the end, you followed me," said Dylan without looking up from the fire.
-I arrived in town today, and today the missionary is leaving town. It would be foolish not to follow you. -A man wearing dark pants, a dark shirt, a red vest, with a pale white face, dark circles under his eyes, gray hair, but no wrinkles on his face, looked at Dylan with his dark eyes.
A dark, inquisitive gaze.
Dylan extended his magical perception; there was no one within several miles.
Dylan looked up, his white robe and hood turning red. Yes, it was the color "perversion red."
"Why don't we test who is better? Your evil god or my honorable and extraordinary Crimson God." Dylan's voice was confident, his expression a subtle and wicked smile.
"You!" said the Cursed Prophet.
As a Cursed Prophet dedicated to dark and cruel activities, he had already heard about the Crimson God, whom many in the underworld knew as synonymous with death and evil.
"Isn't it perverse to risk one's life? Well, that sounds stupid too." Dylan scoffed at his own statement.
Bang! Bang! Bang!...
Dark red magical drops shot up from the ground and attempted to strike the Cursed Prophet, but he stepped back to dodge them in time and then, moving his hand toward the magical drops while conjuring an elegant black staff with a golden bat head, fired hundreds of sonic bullets.
Bang! Bang! Bang!...
The magic drops collided with the sonic bullets.
The Cursed Prophet pointed his staff in Dylan's direction.
A sphere of blood imbued with a great deal of evil and magical energy formed at the tip of the staff.
"Die, sacrilegious infidel."
Dylan felt chills, but he was also getting excited. He wouldn't have minded fighting in the city and dragging innocent people into it, but he knew that there was a powerful wizard in the city at that moment.
Dylan didn't want to be attacked by several enemies at once, much less have his identity discovered.
As the energy sphere descended, a dragon formed from almost transparent water rose from the ground and opened its jaws, trying to devour the sphere.
Boom!
Everything around him shook. Dylan moved away from the campfire and used wind magic to float.
The blood sphere slowed down and fell to the ground, but its target had escaped. However, a great power spread across the ground, cracking it for several kilometers, and then...
Boom!
An area of miles of desolation and destruction. That was why battles between high-ranking magicians or warriors were considered calamities and natural disasters.
"Wow, I just wanted to earn some wicked points; I didn't think I'd be immersed in a fight against an enemy with the level of a high-ranking boss," was Dylan's thought as he didn't let his guard down.
"That sphere managed to get through my second strongest attack. Is it the staff? Or is it that he surpasses me in lower levels? But I thought I could defeat rivals in my own rank regardless of level. Hmm, maybe it's the blessing of the evil gods," Dylan looked at his enemy, and his enemy looked at him.
The night was cold, the moon illuminating the destroyed surroundings.
"How about we make a mana oath and each go our separate ways, never revealing the other's identity?" Dylan proposed politely.
The Cursed Prophet raised his staff toward Dylan.
"What else could I expect from you?" Dylan said coldly, his gaze stern.
The ground shook again, and an almost transparent dragon formed from water emerged. This time, the dragon was twice the size.
"Do you think just because it's bigger, something will change?" said the Cursed Prophet as he created another sphere of blood at the tip of his staff.
Dylan smiled subtly:
"I think a woman can answer that question better."
"Die, sacrilegious infidel!" shouted the Cursed Prophet again.