Orleans suddenly found that he could no longer hear the cicadas chirping outside the window.
In its place was the sacred and solemn sound of blessings, and a voice akin to rituals, prayers, and benedictions that seemed more distant and ethereal, unknown from where it originated.
Vivacious Flame Elves swirled around Orleans.
After all, Orleans was one of the few Tier Four demon-level figures of the younger generation. Staring at those Flame Elves, he faintly felt: besides the Flame Elves, was there another kind of Magic Elf that he couldn't see, yet seemed to indeed exist?
The scorching heat had somehow completely dissipated.
The atmosphere turned cool and refreshing.
Amidst the coolness was a warmth and reassurance akin to returning to the womb.
No one in this world knows what it feels like or remembers being in the womb.
But now, Orleans felt: perhaps this was exactly how he felt now!
