A new letter was quickly written by Father Weiss.
In the letter, the terrifying strength of the enemies in the Celestoria Mountains was detailed, along with the significant losses sustained by their forces.
Particularly at the end of the letter, they emphasized repeatedly that the enemies in the Celestoria Mountains far exceeded their capabilities.
If they continued to hold their position, they would face even more severe consequences.
The five priests did not shy away from admitting their shortcomings in the letter and expressed their urgent desire to retreat.
When faced with the choice between life and their positions, everyone chose life.
Even at the risk of losing their status, they no longer wished to remain in the Celestoria Mountains.
As Father Weiss carefully sealed the letter with wax, he glanced at Father Raphael.
Once the seal was set, the wax imprinted deeply.
"Deacon!"
Weiss called out toward the tent's entrance.
A deacon quickly entered, retrieved the letter, and swiftly exited the tent.
Next day, orders were issued to begin the organized retreat of the army.
As the retreat command reached the frontlines, dawn had already broken.
Father Raphael, after receiving treatment with the medicinal pill, was able to stand and walk again, though his face was still deathly pale.
The combination of this severe injury and prior lack of rest had left him weak.
A strange scene unfolded among the Celestoria Mountains.
During the retreat, the soldiers were initially filled with fear.
The officers and scouts at the frontlines were on high alert, constantly watching their surroundings, fearing the magic beasts would launch an attack during their withdrawal.
To everyone's surprise, the beasts did not attack as expected.
At first, the retreating army moved cautiously, ready for any sudden assault.
But as time passed, they gradually realized that the surrounding beasts merely watched them in silence.
Not a single one attempted to approach or launch an attack.
These ferocious creatures crouched low or stood in the shadows of the mountains, coldly observing the retreating forces.
It was as if they were following some unseen command.
There was no malice in their gaze, only a subtle pressure that felt both strange and unsettling.
"What's going on?" a soldier muttered under his breath, unsettled by the eerie atmosphere.
Inside the command tent, Father Raphael, still pale, sat in deep thought.
The table before him was piled with reports from the frontlines.
He flipped through the documents, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. Every report confirmed the same fact.
The retreating army had not been attacked.
Though the soldiers had remained on high alert at first, as the retreat progressed, they gradually realized that the beasts were indeed as the gray-haired man had promised—standing still without any hostile action.
"It seems he kept his word," Raphael murmured.
The gray-haired man had promised that his subordinates would not attack the retreating army, and now the facts confirmed that his promise had been kept.
Though still under the shadow of the Celestoria Mountains, the silent beasts had made the retreat surprisingly smooth.
Raphael sighed softly, closing the last report and placing it back on the table.
As more troops steadily withdrew from the Celestoria Mountains, they gathered at the foot of the range.
Over three days, all forces successfully retreated to the mountain's base.
However, due to the hasty withdrawal, they hadn't had time to deal with the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Those who had perished in the depths of the mountains would forever remain buried in that cold, desolate land.
During this time, the five priests anxiously awaited a response from Father Marco at the rear.
Father Raphael's condition had slightly improved, but he still looked weary.
When Father Marco received Raphael's urgent letter, his face turned pale as he read the words "Catastrophic-level magic beast."
The letter nearly slipped from his hands.
He read it three times, each reading making the cold sweat on his forehead more intense.
"What is going on?" Father Marco muttered, his voice filled with unease.
A Catastrophic-level magic beast.
The situation was far more dire than he had anticipated.
Unable to make the decision alone, Father Marco ultimately decided to report the matter to the Archbishop of the Southern Province, requesting higher-level guidance.
The Archbishop of the Southern Province was an elderly man, his hair and beard completely white.
His beard, long and neatly groomed, almost reached his chest.
Despite his advanced age, the Archbishop's face bore few wrinkles, and his gaze remained sharp.
Dressed in a luxurious red robe edged with gold trim, the Archbishop's attire symbolized his high rank in the church.
The red robe was a privilege of the Archbishop.
Other members of the clergy followed different clothing regulations.
Ordinary priests could only wear white robes.
Regional priests were allowed to adorn their white robes with gold trim to signify their elevated status.
Deacons, who ranked below priests, wore black robes, indicating their more basic position within the church.
Above the Archbishop were five Purple Cardinals, who wore purple robes.
These five held immense power and authority, overseeing the church's affairs across the land.
Only the Purple Cardinals had the privilege of direct communication with the Pope.
The Pope, dressed in golden robes, was the supreme leader of the entire church, residing in the Holy City's Grand Cathedral along with the Purple Cardinals.
The Divine Genesis Continent was entirely ruled by the church—there were no nobles or kings.
The clergy were the rulers of this land.
They had governed for ten millions of years.
The church's influence was omnipresent.
Becoming a deacon was relatively easy, and almost anyone with a desire to serve the church could obtain this position through basic training and examinations.
However, becoming a priest was incredibly difficult, as one of the prerequisites was mastery of light-element magic.
This requirement blocked many from advancing in the church hierarchy.
Countless individuals remained stuck as deacons for life, unable to progress further.
The Archbishop of the Southern Province carefully reviewed Father Marco's report, his expression growing more serious with each passing moment.
His gaze lingered on the document for a long time before he finally sighed and set it down.
"This Raphael is no ordinary man," the Archbishop muttered softly before summoning a deacon.
"Bring me everything we have on Raphael."
Soon, the deacon returned with a single sheet of paper.
The Archbishop took it and carefully examined the information. The document detailed Father Raphael's background and accomplishments.
Raphael had been orphaned at a young age and graduated with top marks from the Stormhaven Church Academy before serving as a deacon for three years, during which time he mastered light-element magic.
The report also noted that Raphael had little interaction with the higher-ups in the church.
He preferred to act alone, and his unique style had kept him from advancing further.