Woosh!0

Before Kay even finished speaking, Zarka Hochi fiercely swung his dagger at Neil Blanc’s neck. 0

Ssshh…0

But the blade of his weapon crumbled to ash before it could touch Neil Blanc’s throat—just like Zigra’s had against Darryl Harian.0

“...!”0

Kay Rothschild’s eyes widened briefly, but Zarka didn’t falter; he flexed his hand, flicking his wrist.0

Swish—!0

Then, sharp claws—like the talons of a bird of prey—shot out from his hand, ash-gray and seemingly laced with venom.0

Crackle…! Crackle…!0

When the claws touched Neil Blanc’s protective barrier, sparks of lightning flew everywhere, but this time, Zarka’s weapon didn’t disintegrate instantly. 0

“Not bad,” Neil Blanc observed, seemingly amused by Zarka’s persistence.0

“The puppetry of the Rothschild family is still based on necromancy, after all. So the one you retrieved from the Ghost Castle was more than just a dead elf.”0

A ghostly wail echoed through the sharp clash of battle, haunting and mournful. Each time it rang out, Zarka’s blade and claws trembled ever so slightly.0

“Of course, I couldn’t come alone. Do you even know how many spirits yearn to see your throat slit?”0

For Zarka Hochi, these spirits were a burden he had willingly accepted—a shackle of his own making. Every time the tortured souls of fallen...0