29 Four-winged Angel!

Beyond the pair of formidable fifth-tier warriors and two magicians, the rest were merely trivial characters in Bruce's eyes. To him, these were mere irritants, easily reducible to pulp with a mere swat of his paw.

Bruce had already gauged his strength with precision. Below the seventh tier, be it warriors or mages, none could stand as his match.

Taking his own minions for instance, the Cyclops, in its prime, boasted a combat prowess that not only paralleled but possibly surpassed that of a human warrior of the fifth tier.

In this realm, the hierarchy of human strength was starkly delineated. Levels 1 through 3 comprised low-tier warriors and mages, levels 4 to 6 were the domain of mid-tier combatants, and levels 7 to 9 housed the high-tier warriors and mages. Beyond the ninth tier, one entered the sacred domain, ascending to either a holy warrior or a holy mage.

Among humans, the Sanctuary ranks were attained by a meager one in ten thousand. Their prowess in single combat rivaled that of juvenile dragons, with the mightier ones standing equal. Yet, breaching the Sanctuary's limits, surpassing the twelfth tier to become a legendary warrior or mage, was a feat reserved for the few. Such beings were monstrous in their strength, capable of vanquishing a mature dragon with sheer magical might.

While Bruce refrained from claiming invincibility below the holy tier, he proudly proclaimed his supremacy below the seventh. This was a point of pride for a young dragon like himself.

Yet, humility was a virtue Bruce cherished, especially in the presence of his draconic peers. He was well aware of the embarrassment overt braggadocio could stir amongst his kindred, who were born of the same clutch.

Bruce, however, harbored these thoughts in secret. Should Torenço learn that Bruce's true might was less than even a Cyclops's, despair would be his constant companion.

Returning his focus to the battlefield, Bruce's predictions played out just as envisaged. With Sanshou spearheading the assault, the human forces were relentlessly driven back.

The human contingent, once a formidable assembly, now stood diminished to a mere thirteen, besieged and battered.

Yet, amidst the chaos, Bruce noted a peculiar resolve. Despite the overwhelming odds and the shadow of death looming, these humans fiercely guarded a box.

Bruce's gaze sharpened. This was the box Mike the Goblin had mentioned, draped in red, sheltering a divine effigy.

The significance of this statue to these mortals piqued Bruce's curiosity. Why clutch so desperately to this artifact in the face of certain demise?

This enigma only deepened Bruce's intrigue.

"Vile invaders, dare you compel such extremities? Today, I shall set a precedent. Even if it demands the annihilation of my flesh and spirit, I shall stand till demise," declared the fifth-tier female magician, her voice a fusion of rage and defiance.

As she spoke, the red veil was lifted, unveiling the statue's head. Even from a distance, Bruce felt an overwhelming divine aura, nearly suffocating under its intensity.

The magician's incantation resonated in the air, "O revered Goddess of Holy Light, accept my flesh as your conduit, my soul as your offering. Grant me the might to vanquish these malevolent beings."

Accompanying her plea, a divine radiance erupted from the statue's gaze, enveloping the magician in a celestial embrace, heralding a confrontation of epic proportions.

"Curse it, genuine divine radiance indeed," Bruce muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "This female magician, a fervent disciple of the Goddess of Holy Light!"

The scene unfolding before him spelled trouble. Bruce's gaze drifted towards his draconic kin, Carona and Torenço. Their formidable forms were reduced to trembling shadows on the earth, not out of fear but overwhelmed by the sacred aura permeating the air. As green dragons, carriers of a darker force, they were especially vulnerable to this purifying light.

Bruce's own strength waned as he stared at the modest statue, no more than a meter tall, yet its aura was suffocating, a testament to its sanctity.

The transformation of the female magician was startling. Her garments disintegrated, revealing her form which began to radiate with a divine luminescence, making her appear like an angel ascendant. Slowly, majestically, four wings unfurled from her back.

"A four-winged angel? How utterly overdone," Bruce grumbled under his breath, the situation far from his favor.

A robbery turned divine confrontation was indeed the epitome of misfortune. Bruce could sense the formidable divine might emanating from the angelic figure, a force rivaling that of an eighth-tier human. Fear, an unfamiliar sensation, began to gnaw at him.

Closest to the angelic apparition, the five Cyclopes were overwhelmed, reduced to kneeling, their frames wracked with uncontrollable tremors, agony etched on their faces.

"Boss... this heist might just be our undoing. In the next life, I'll still stand by you. Given time, we'd fear neither the Goddess of Holy Light nor any deity... You are our true god," Sansham managed to utter between labored breaths, sweat cascading down his face, though he stood unyielding.

Bruce's gaze swept over his lesser kin, witnessing their agonized convulsions on the ground. Sansham's unshakable loyalty, evident even now, made him an irreplaceable lieutenant. Such devotion, such raw potential, was rare among the Cyclopes.

"Perish, vile scourges! The luminous sanctity of the Goddess of Holy Light shall not be tainted," the four-winged angel proclaimed. In a blinding burst of celestial light, her divine incantation was unleashed. The hapless thralls caught in its path were instantaneously reduced to dust, their very essence obliterated.

Such was the power of a divine spell, a conduit for the deity's might, channeled through sacrifice or other esoteric rites, sometimes even a fragment of the deity's own consciousness. The devastation it wrought was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.