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For a moment, Alius doubted his ears. But there was no mistake. He had encountered this voice many times before and knew it all too well. It belonged to Straph, the bishop of Trist.
“Why are you dabbling in necromancy…?” Alius demanded.
He was met with a mocking response. “Why are you so surprised? Isn’t it because you already suspected me that you crept in here so secretly?”
Of course, Alius had harbored suspicions. But he had only thought that Straph might have allied with necromancers, not that he had become one himself. The idea that a servant of the goddess would embrace necromancy was unthinkable.
“Unbelievable! A servant of the goddess stooping to the vile power of darkness?”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Straph laughed. “Tell me, what reason is there not to indulge in such power? Hahaha!”
As his laughter grew louder, the entire space trembled. The oppressive darkness thickened, transforming into a crushing weight that bore down on everyone’s bodies.
“Ugh!”
Serati, sensing the danger, scanned the surroundings. In situations like this, the first priority was securing an escape route.
The exit?
The gate they had destroyed to enter was now blocked by grotesque, pulsating walls of flesh. Without hesitation, she unleashed her aura blade.
“Ha!”
The crimson aura struck the wall of flesh but quickly dissipated. The wall trembled for a moment but remained unscathed.
“Why is this so durable?”
Riltaine wasn’t idle, either. Regaining...
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