Artor's body swayed slightly, and he had to use one hand to brace against the railing.
The God-slaying Arrow, the Dragon of Time—wars that buried The Empire a thousand years ago, now named as the War of Revenge...
Countless chaotic clues flashed in his mind, and that heart full of wounds felt as if it were pierced and crushed by a sharp knife once more.
The two brothers, one standing on the sunlit terrace, the other seated on the throne shrouded in shadow.
Artor slowly opened his mouth, "What's the reason."
The weather magic cast by the Undead was shattered by Divine Power, and the blazing sunlight poured down like a waterfall, washing over the darkened Royal Capital of Clark.
The low-level Undead wandering within the Royal Capital were directly exposed to the sunlight, unable to escape, all were burned to ashes.
The painful sharp scream of the Undead filled the ears, sounding eerily chilling, yet Albert's eyes showed no emotion.
He glanced upward at the sky.
