At this moment, when Kline looked down again, he could no longer see the strange candle wrapped in human skin in his hands, though a delicate, slightly sweet fragrance lingered at his nostrils. Ignoring the bishop Utrofsky lying in a pool of blood, he produced a matchbox and struck one match. As the flame ignited, the blood on the ground swiftly vanished, and the disordered church hall once again became orderly and serene. Utrofsky, now rising like a giant, gazed down at Kline with a contorted face and said, "It has no effect at all." "That explains why you dared accept this commission." "Yet, this is your misfortune— I had no intention of killing you." As he spoke, the candles along the sides of the church began to flicker noticeably, and the entire hall brightened, though softly and gently, as though morning light had just begun to filter in. The invisible spirits were swiftly fading away. Without further words, Kline dropped the match and blew gently, simulating the sound: "Puff!" An intangible air blast surged forth and struck squarely against the chest of the Utrofsky bishop, producing a crisp, resonant crack. Yet, at some point, the bishop—whom one might have thought a giant—had donned a complete silver-white armor set, encompassing his entire body: arm guards, breastplate, and crown helmet, among other components. At the point of impact on his chest, the silver "metal" had fractured into a web-like pattern, yet it remained intact, slowly healing over time. "Thud!" "Thud!" Klein continuously released air blasts, linking them end to end, sending them straight toward the enemy's chest, hoping that persistent strikes would finally shatter the defense there. Yet, he observed that the Utrofsky bishop now held a heavy, broad sword, as though light itself had coalesced into it, and with graceful precision, deflected both air blasts. The clashing sounds were indistinguishable, merging almost into one seamless resonance. Clang! Utterfalk merely took a single step forward, and the church seemed to sway beneath his weight. At the same time, his massive two-handed sword descended with the force of a collapsing structure, cleaving toward Caine. Even before the blade reached him, the gust of wind sent Caine staggering, nearly losing his balance. What a terrifying power! As that thought flashed through his mind, Caine smoothly leapt to the side, then bent low, preparing for a roll. Thud! Utterfalk's two-handed sword struck the ground, shattering the stone slabs, and cracks rapidly spread outward. Crack! He dragged the sword across the surface, shifting from a vertical strike to a sweeping motion, sending a trail of sparks flying. A move precisely crafted for a foe who favors rolling! As Caine was about to land, a vivid image of himself being swept aside by the horizontal strike of the two-handed sword flashed into his mind. He quickly swung his arms and pressed with his palms, then launched himself back into the air. Hrrr! The strong wind swept away the dust on the ground, and the fearsome great sword cleared the nearby chairs. Before Caine could even counterattack, the attack from the Bishop of the Giant surged without pause. One strike, two strikes, three strikes… five, six, seven… Utrovsky seemed to possess an almost inexhaustible supply of energy, maintaining a relentless, torrential assault that lasted for several dozen seconds. Vertical slashes, diagonal cuts, sweeping strokes, straight thrusts, and powerful strikes—through the simplest of sword techniques, he demonstrated the most effective and logical movements, and the damage range of his dual great swords reached a terrifying level. Caine jumped, rolled, and dashed, yet found no opportunity to unleash his abilities, appearing disorganized and in grave peril. Had it not been for the matches he had earlier scattered across different corners of the church, and the candles still burning on either side, allowing him to "teleport" between them, he would have surely been cut down by the onslaught. No wonder he is renowned as a master of combat—an impeccable performance, with no flaws at all. Klein remained calm, never panicked. Amidst his rolls and evasions, he continuously sought weaknesses in his opponent, waiting for the rhythm of the attack to ease. Finally, he identified a flaw in Utrofski's sword technique: the dual massive swords were too long and bulky, presenting a clear disadvantage in close-quarters combat. A sudden idea struck him. As Utrofski's sword descended vertically, Klein first rolled to the left and forward, then propelled himself swiftly, rolling between Utrofski's legs. Utrofski, a "half-giant" over two meters and twenty centimeters tall, stood with his legs well apart, his silver-colored thigh guards clearly visible. As soon as Klein reached that position, his left hand slipped into his coat pocket, drawing out a long strip of paper, which he quickly folded into a rigid, sharp staff, and drove it into the space beside Utrofski's thigh guards—directly into the body of the giant bishop. This will be the fatal blow! Yet at that very moment, a sudden chill ran through him, and in his mind's eye, he saw the great sword plunging downward, radiating infinite light that surged into a terrifying storm, engulfing him. A trap! Utrovsky's trap! Without hesitation, Klein pressed his right hand and leapt forward, passing through the gap between the legs of the "Giant" bishop, landing behind him. As he executed this move, Utrovsky had already grasped the hilt of the sword with both hands, bent his back, and drove the great blade straight down into the stone before him. With a crisp crack, patches of morning-light glimmers surged along the sword's surface, transforming into gales that swept across the surrounding area. In silence, the stone where Klein had stood vanished, the soil beneath it thinning by nearly ten centimeters; Utrovsky's silver-white armor on his legs and groin suffered the same damage, cracking and fragmenting, revealing his skin. His trap was to sacrifice his own injury in exchange for the enemy's destruction. At that moment, after finally positioning himself behind Bishop Utravaski, Caine seized the opportunity to launch a counteroffensive. In midair, he twisted his body forcefully, puffing out his cheeks, and simulated the sound of gunfire directly at his opponent's back of the head: "Boom!" "Boom!" Two air projectiles struck Utravaski's back consecutively—first shattering the silver-white metal there, then fracturing it completely, exposing a vulnerable, unprotected area. As Caine prepared to deliver the final, decisive blow, Utravaski suddenly straightened up, rotated his torso with powerful momentum, and violently swept his massive swords backward in a sweeping motion. The speed of the attack was so rapid, and the force so intense, that Caine seemed utterly unable to evade it. Yet, he promptly drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and held it in front of him. The impact of the swords against the paper produced a deep, resonant metallic sound—crisp and loud—so powerful that it reverberated throughout the entire church. Klein was sent flying like a tennis ball, his paper tearing into fragments, only a single piece clutched between his fingers. Mid-air, he immediately faced Utzlovsky's furious, swift, unrelenting pursuit—his situation perilously precarious. Yet he showed no signs of panic; he merely shook his wrist. The fragment flared into flame, the fire spreading rapidly and engulfing Klein completely. Ho! The great sword severed the flame, yet caused no injury—only a few sparks scattered. At a candle on the right side of the church, the golden glow suddenly expanded, casting the outline of a figure painted with oil. Klein reappeared, drawing out another long strip of paper from his pocket. Crack! With a flick of his wrist, the paper transformed into a resilient whip, still blazing with red flame. Crack! Crack! Crack! From a distance, Klein swung the whip, striking the chief bishop. But his weapons shattered swiftly under the defensive parries and assaults of those luminous, massive swords held by the hands of the man. And this was precisely what Cline had intended! Plip, plip, plip! With a mere snap of his fingers, he sent up one after another fiery beams that surged across the ground, blocking Utrofsky and searing the exposed legs of his opponent. The restoration of the Dawn Armor was remarkably slow! As the flames danced and surged, Utrofsky's legs burned black, with streaks of crimson rising upward. Yet this did not impede the agility of the "Giant" bishop. Suddenly, he roared—a sound like a steam locomotive finally reaching its peak speed—and with a swift, powerful, and decisive impact, he broke through the waves of flame, charging directly toward Cline. How astonishingly fast that was! Immediately afterward, Utrofsky's massive swords cracked and fragmented into scattered glimmers, sweeping across the battlefield. In an instant, Cline found himself in a position of certain doom. The several matches kept separately on his person suddenly flared to life, engulfing him in a powerful flame. But this did not unfold with the speed of the "Storm of Light"—the crimson flame had barely taken form before it was swallowed whole!克莱恩's body fragmented and dissolved, inch by inch, yet lost its thickness, transforming into shredded paper. A crimson flame rose behind Utzofsky, and from within it,克莱恩 emerged. He pulled out the matchbox from the pocket on his opposite side, hurling it toward the enemy, as if aiming to ignite all the remaining matches at once and create a certain explosion through the constraints of the narrow space. The matchbox was precisely aimed at Utzofsky's unprotected lower body!克莱恩 raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. At the same time, Utzofsky the Bishop leapt backward, bending his knees and drawing his legs inward. *Crack!* With the sound of a snap of fingers came a firebox unchanged—crisp, resonant, a precise air bullet that struck just behind the bishop Utravsky's unprotected skull, a premeditated, deadly blow. The skull cracked, blood and white splatters flew outward. Utravsky struggled to turn his head, blinked in bewilderment, and stammered, "You...?" Click—crash—the firebox fell to the ground, pockmarked by the "Storm of Light," yet still unlit. Klein smiled. "I've never claimed that snapping fingers can only control fire, not launch air bullets." "Observe." Snap. Snap. Snap! He snapped his fingers in succession, sending one after another of these air bullets into Utravsky's head, shattering his helmet and cracking his skull. Thump! Utravsky lost consciousness, collapsing heavily to the ground, causing a slight tremor throughout the church hall. Snap! Klein turned, and snapped his fingers once more. The box of matches on the ground exploded, transforming into blazing red flames that consumed the massive corpse of Utrovsky. Klein did not pause to sense the odd candle; instead, he relied solely on his clear mind and rationality, steadily advancing through the deepest layers of his consciousness. Behind him, the corpse was enveloped in crimson flame, burning fiercely, and the world dissolved, inch by inch.