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“Ash?” Astaroth frowned as he stared at the drifting gray ash. He hadn’t used any fire-based magic, so why would ash, not dust, be floating around? “Where could this have come from—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a brutal punch from nowhere smashed into his face.
The blow rattled his brain as he was thrown backward. The Archbishop clutched his bleeding nose, but his eyes flew wide open when he glared at his attacker. “What the—”
It was the cadet who had died a few moments ago. This was impossible. Astaroth had clearly punched a hole the size of a human head through the cadet’s chest. The dark mana explosion had annihilated Dale’s heart, lungs, and everything else. There was no conceivable way he should be standing now.
When he inspected the cadet, he realized the wound was gone. The gaping hole in his chest had vanished, as if it had never existed. A hollow chuckle escaped his lips. “Hah! Healing from a wound that took out the heart and lungs, in an instant?”
That kind of absurdity could only mean one thing. He said, “A Blessing, huh!”
It was a blessing of the gods, granted to only a rare few even among heroes. Now Astaroth understood why that gray-haired cadet had...
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