Pale moonlight streamed in through the glass window, casting colorful shadows.
In the center of the Church, only one color remained on Liu Zheng's body.
Blood-red.
The skin below his neck had been stripped away, and from head to toe, he was studded with tacks just like those on the helmet man.
Of course, those stripped-off skin areas were quickly regenerating, but no one else could see them.
Because he was enclosed within a blood-red armor filled with sharp barbs piercing into his flesh.
On Liu Zheng's back, an image was embroidered with iron wire, exactly depicting the Twisted Saint.
All twelve rituals had been completed, and the Great Baptism, which hadn't been passed by anyone for over a century, finally witnessed another successful challenger.
The old woman looked at him excitedly, her complexion unnaturally flushed.
Liu Zheng's expression, however, was quite calm. Some parts of the ritual had indeed been challenging, but afterwards, only pure pain remained.
