Sylren's eyes suddenly sharpened, the black-gold lines at the corners of his pupils burning like molten metal.
Anger surged violently in his heart.
At the same time, Ethan's gaze flickered sideways.
Alina.
Her expression was vacant, her breathing unnaturally calm. The aura around her consciousness had loosened.
She had fallen into the illusion.
Before Ethan could even finish the thought, Verelia had already moved.
A long sword appeared in her hand, the blade cold and merciless. Without hesitation, she raised it high and slashed straight toward Alina's neck, intending to decapitate her on the spot.
Clean. Efficient. Final.
Ethan's pupils contracted.
If Alina died here, the balance would collapse instantly. Two three-legged Golden Crows against him alone—no matter how strong his methods were, that situation would be extremely unfavorable.
Alina alive meant three forces restraining each other.
Alina dead meant disaster.
At that instant, Ethan vanished.
