Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 239: Do You Think A Queen Has The Right To Judge The God We Serve?

Chapter 239: Do You Think A Queen Has The Right To Judge The God We Serve?

The moment the orb pulsed, something shifted across the camp. No loud sound. No visible force. Just a change—quiet and smooth—like a thread had been pulled.

The barrier field cracked, not from impact, but from giving up. Like it knew resistance wouldn’t matter.

Crystals lining the perimeter split with small, silent fractures. The energy shields flickered out. Every communication spell cut off at the same time, as if someone had unplugged the world.

Runes dimmed and died where they stood, and none of them tried to restart.

Inside the camp, no one said anything at first. No one called out. They were already too late.

The cult was sealed off.

There was no contact, no escape, and no outside eyes.

People began to shift—small movements at first. Shoulders turned. Eyes scanned the horizon. A few lowered into a crouch without knowing why.

Weapons were halfway drawn. Some looked to the sky, some at the dirt, but most didn’t even know what they were reacting to.

They weren’t really panicking, at least not yet.

Then the shadows started to move.

Not just stretch—but shift, slowly curling in the wrong direction.

And that’s when Isabella stepped through them.

She didn’t walk out of darkness.

She brought it with her.

The guards posted at the rear didn’t raise alarms, they didn’t shout, but instead they started swaying slightly, like their balance was off.

Then they turned—one after another—facing inward toward the camp instead of out.

Their hands tightened around their weapons, then with no hesitation, and no doubt because they weren’t guarding anything anymore.

They were hers now to command and use.

In under three seconds, five of the rear captains collapsed, there was no struggle, nor was there any screams.

Just the sharp sound of steel cutting through armor and the dull thud of bodies hitting the snow.

The men who did it—her shadows—stood completely still. Calm eyes. Steady breathing.

And from behind them, Isabella walked into view.

She didn’t speak, she didn’t pause to look at the dead, she just passed them like they were nothing but empty pieces on a board that had already lost.

No lights flare, no magic shimmered, but something still changed.

The atmosphere shifted—not with fear, but with confusion. A crack was spreading across a wall no one had noticed until now.

They hadn’t trained for this kind of pressure. They didn’t know how to name it.

And then the mist on the far edge parted.

Lilith stepped through.

No fanfare. No sound. Just one foot in front of the other.

She didn’t fly in. She didn’t surge forward with power. She walked like she had every right to be here, like this ground already belonged to her.

The mist moved away from her body on its own. The snow underfoot didn’t crunch or scatter.

It flattened beneath her boots, smoothing out as if it had been waiting for her to arrive.

Her coat trailed behind her, brushing the ground without dragging. Her silver-white hair drifted in slow motion, untouched by the cold.

She wasn’t glowing, nor was she cloaked in light like a god.

But instead, her every move corrupted the ground around her, which cracked with each step she took.

Not because she was forcing it.

But because the land cannot handle her power and the boundless anger that she carries.

At the center of the camp, the cult leader stepped forward.

What was left of him didn’t look fully human anymore. His limbs were uneven. His spine twisted like someone had bent it too many times without letting it heal.

One of his arms stretched too far, and his skin was marked with divine patterns that looked incomplete, like someone had tried to bless him but changed their mind halfway through.

He was leaking energy.

Not power.

Corruption.

And it sounded like grinding bone in a closed room—slow, wrong, constant.

But he could still speak.

His voice rasped with something sharp and bitter. The sound wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air anyway.

"Do you think a queen has the right to judge the god we serve?"

Lilith didn’t stop walking.

She didn’t say anything.

But the temple behind him dimmed. The walls turned darker. Not destroyed—just dimmed. Like the structure had felt her coming and didn’t want to be seen anymore.

The cult leader raised both arms. Light burst from his hands—not warm, not clean. It flickered like an oil fire, filled with things that weren’t supposed to shine.

He shouted something in a language lost long ago. His voice echoed across the camp, and dozens of cultists shouted back.

Lilith didn’t even flinch.

She turned her head slightly.

"Liliana."

Liliana stepped forward without hesitation. Her lance began to hum—not loud, but steady. Weapons near the frontlines started to shake in their holders. A few cracked outright.

Then Lilith spoke again.

"Seraphina."

Seraphina lifted her hand and tapped the orb one more time.

This time, the fog didn’t part—it vanished completely. freewёbnoνel.com

Gone in a second, like someone had flipped a switch and cleared the air for good.

Now the entire camp could see.

The formation layout. The runes. The ranks. Every trap, every defense—exposed.

In that wide-open moment, Isabella smiled.

Just a small one. Cold. A confident smile that made her look like a war god who has seen the ending of this farce.

From the far right, several guards turned. Their blades were already drawn.

But they didn’t aim at the attackers.

They turned toward the center of the camp—toward the cult leader.

They were hers now, too.

And then—

Lilith stopped.

She hadn’t reached the leader yet.

She hadn’t lifted a hand.

But all around the camp, every torch started to dim.

Then one by one, they flickered.

Then they died out.

Not from wind.

Not from any spell.

Because the fire itself stopped working. Like it no longer wanted to be part of this place.

The cult leader took a step back.

He opened his mouth to speak again.

And that’s where it ended.

No blast. No grand final command. Just a silence that dropped like a weight into the center of everything.

It didn’t grow.

It didn’t pass.

It settled.

A silence so full, it erased the space it touched.

Nothing followed it.

Because there was nothing left to follow.

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