Welcome

Raindrops relentlessly battered the ground as a fierce storm raged on outside.

The cold wind bit at their faces, and the rain poured down in torrents.

At the entrance of the tent, two guards stood trembling, their faces pale as they glanced at the white-haired man.

Father Raphael cast them a brief look and spoke calmly.

"We'll be gone for a while. You two, keep watch here."

The guards nodded nervously, their eyes still fixed on the imposing white-haired man.

Without a word, the white-haired man raised his hand, and suddenly, a fierce blizzard whipped up around him and the five priests, lifting them into the air.

The six of them flew through the wind and snow at incredible speed, as if the power of the storm itself was clearing the path for them.

Standing at the front, the white-haired man spread his arms slightly, closing his eyes in apparent enjoyment as the gusts of wind and snow buffeted him.

He seemed completely at ease, as though he was one with the harsh weather.

Rain and snow swirled around him, but he paid them no mind, appearing to revel in the elements.

Above the five priests, however, a faint blue water shield hovered, keeping the rain at bay. Water slid down its surface but could not penetrate it.

The soft glow of the shield resembled a delicate veil, completely isolating the priests from the cold.

Though they were enveloped by the swirling snowstorm, with snowflakes dancing around them, not a single flake managed to touch them.

The storm roared on, but the priests remained untouched by it.

Still, despite being shielded from the cold, Father Thomas and the others were tense, their brows furrowed with unease, their eyes filled with vigilance.

While the water shield kept the cold out, it couldn't banish the tension they felt inside.

Only Father Raphael appeared calm, his eyes closed as if enjoying a brief moment of rest.

All around them was the howling of the storm.

They couldn't see their surroundings clearly.

The four priests initially thought this journey would take a long time, given that they were headed for the deepest part of the Celestoria Mountain Range—a place so remote that few ever reached it.

To their surprise, the entire flight took only about half an hour before they arrived at their destination.

The deepest part of the Celestoria Mountain Range slowly came into view.

The rain was still pouring down, and the oppressive atmosphere made it difficult to breathe.

Before them lay a vast lake, its surface rippling as raindrops fell, sending out wave after wave of rings that spread across the water.

The rain made soft pattering sounds as it hit the lake, splashing and creating small bursts of spray.

Once the four priests and Father Raphael landed, they realized they were now standing in the heart of the Celestoria Mountain Range.

A place many strong individuals had dreamed of reaching, yet so few had ever set foot in.

This region was steeped in countless legends, with many adventurers and warriors having attempted to explore it.

But only a handful had survived, and those who did often bore grave injuries or left in a broken state.

As they looked around, they immediately sensed something different about this place.

The air was filled with a chilling cold that made their skin prickle, the temperature even lower than they had expected.

It seeped through their heavy clothing, making them shiver involuntarily.

The four priests instinctively raised their guard.

But Father Raphael remained calm.

He slowly surveyed the surroundings, noting the dense forest encircling the lake at its center.

Rain continued to fall into the lake, creating countless tiny ripples, while the air was thick with cold, damp moisture.

His gaze soon settled on a tall figure standing at the edge of the lake.

The man's gray hair was slightly damp from the rain, his posture as unmovable as a mountain, hands clasped behind his back.

His gray eyes calmly watched as Father Raphael and the others arrived.

The man's height exceeded even that of Leon, whom Father Raphael had once met, and his muscles were tightly coiled, exuding a sense of overwhelming power.

Though he stood motionless, he radiated an aura of danger that sent chills down the spine.

Father Raphael rarely felt such a strong sense of threat, but as he faced the gray-haired man now, he couldn't ignore the subtle pressure that weighed on him—a sensation he hadn't experienced in many years.

"Welcome to my domain.

I apologize for the hasty invitation—I didn't have time to prepare fine wine or a grand feast."

The gray-haired man's voice was deep and resonant, though a warm smile played on his lips.

Father Raphael smiled back calmly and responded evenly.

"That's alright. We, as clergy, don't indulge much in fine wine or feasts."

With that, he stepped forward and extended his hand.

The gray-haired man seemed slightly surprised by Father Raphael's gesture, but he quickly returned the smile, reaching out with his rough hand for a firm handshake.

The two clasped hands tightly.

After a moment, the gray-haired man let go, still smiling, while Father Raphael calmly stepped back toward the other four priests.

His face maintained its friendly expression.

"Are you alright, Father Raphael?"

Father Phillips glanced at Father Raphael's right hand, noticing how it trembled slightly.

Father Raphael shook his head, the smile on his face unwavering.

"I'm fine."

He spoke quietly, trying to reassure the others.

At the same time, the gray-haired man slowly moved his right hand behind his back, and it too trembled slightly.

His eyes narrowed as he kept a close watch on Father Raphael.

Though his face still wore a warm smile, a fleeting expression of caution crossed his features.

"Are you alright?" the white-haired man asked, glancing at the gray-haired man with a hint of concern.

The gray-haired man shook his head gently and replied calmly.

"I'm fine, just a small matter."

As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward Father Raphael, who remained under the water shield, untouched by the rain.

He paid no mind to his own soaked clothes.

He spoke again, his tone calm but laced with an underlying sharpness, clearly directed at Father Raphael and his companions.

"If someone enters a house without informing its owner, what should be done?"

His piercing gaze locked onto Father Raphael.

Father Raphael, still standing beneath the water shield, remained serene. The rain had not touched his robes.

He responded slowly.

"That depends on who owns the land. One can't just build a house on someone else's property and then assume they can claim the land as their own, can they?"

The gray-haired man nodded slightly, his expression impassive, and pressed on.

"Then, what if that land originally belonged to someone else? Would they be justified in reclaiming it?"

Father Raphael remained calm, shaking his head gently as he replied.

"What happened in the past is in the past.

If we always follow old rules, does that mean we should never progress or evolve?"

A subtle tension filled the air.

The four priests and the white-haired man held their breath, waiting for what would come next.