Basalom, who had lost both his arms and legs, collapsed in a pool of blood, uttering weak cries of misery.
Not far from him, the three-meter tall Hundred-faced Demon, radiating an aura of fear, crouched obediently on the ground.
Lynn stood beside the Hundred-faced Demon, retracting his probing witchcraft.
"The refinement of the Hundred-faced Demon requires stirring deep-seated fear and madness in human hearts, thus rendering it irrational."
The white-clad, white-haired Maki approached slowly, speaking gently:
"The strong power comes from the negative emotions of hundreds, invoked by witchcraft, and fused with the bloodline of ancient giants."
"In such a state of chaotic consciousness condensed into a whole, trying to restore your friend's sanity is like refining the impurities once present in well-tempered metal, which is very difficult."
"I must try." Lynn pointed to Basalom on the ground and said:
"If what he says is true, there's still a chance."
"Yes!"
"Absolutely!"
