Alina suddenly turned around, only to see the black-clothed man, who she thought had been knocked to the ground and rendered speechless, still able to speak.
Covered in blood and lying on the ground barely alive, his face bore a bizarre smile.
"Do you think killing us can stop the ceremony?"
The black-clothed man spoke intermittently, his voice weak but filled with madness and defiance.
"Our blood... is the perfect sacrifice... the Demon Lord has already heard our call..."
"He will soon descend... and you lowly creatures... will all bow at his feet..."
Alina frowned, dismissing the words of the black-clothed man.
To her, it was nothing more than the dying struggle of a defeated foe.
How could the ravings of a dying man pose any challenge to her?
"The Demon Lord you're talking about is nothing but a figment of imagination."
Alina said coldly, overflowing with disdain in her tone.
"True power lies within one's own strength."
"And I am the best proof of that."
