The platinum scepter lightly touched the Pope, and a sky-reaching Holy Light suddenly descended. For a moment, Saint Ivan III's aged body became upright and powerful, as if he had mysteriously regained his former peak. But his resistance lasted less than a second—the Holy Light descending from the sky did not shelter him, nor did the surrounding floating Holy Light. All the sacred light seemed to turn into deadly flames, beginning to consume Saint Ivan III's body. Within the brilliant flame, he gaped angrily at Veronica: "Why..."
"In essence, the Holy Light is just a form of energy," Veronica calmly watched as Saint Ivan III's body gradually dissipated in the brilliant flame, her expression still gentle and serene, yet her tone cold as machinery, "If your way of harnessing energy is too outdated, your devotion means nothing."
