The blood rain continued to pour, washing away the crimson stains that covered the dark road. King Iscaron no longer cried.
The grief that had consumed him only moments ago gradually disappeared, replaced by a terrifying calm that made him seem even more frightening than before.
He gently laid the High Concubine's body on the ground before placing one hand over her chest. A faint silver mist slowly rose from her body, gathering above his palm like drifting smoke before finally settling there.
Ulrich immediately recognized what the King was doing.
He was pulling out her soul.
"If this world refuses to grant us justice, then I shall create a place where no one shall ever judge us again," Iscaron said quietly, his voice carrying neither anger nor despair anymore. It was the voice of a king who had already accepted the path before him.
