'XXXX, kill this bastard first, then go back and kill that bastard Orcus...'
'I'm going to tear apart every inch of his flesh...'
'You lunatic, how can I take that risk...'
'We have to...'
Faced with this dilemma.
Dimogegen's two heads.
Directly began arguing within their respective minds.
Cursing at each other.
The hot-tempered one, consumed by rage, wanted only to kill, kill, kill, and fight to his heart's content.
The one with the gloomy, vicious nature wanted to play things safer.
It could only be said that, faced with the possibility of being attacked from three sides, he truly had little confidence.
Especially Graz'zt, who had yet to show himself.
He exerted tremendous pressure on him!
He knew full well that the other party would never let such a once-in-a-millennium opportunity slip by.
Once the time was right.
The other party would surely launch an attack immediately!
Thus, he did not dare let Tyr hold him up for too long.
Yet at the same time, he was not confident that he could quickly deal with Tyr.
After all, their years of fighting had long made him understand just how troublesome his opponent was...
However, no matter how much he imagined.
He could never have guessed.
That Graz'zt, that fellow, was currently immersed in the matter of training Wojin.
Racking his brains over how to open the biggest, most luxurious brothel possible, so that she could experience the ultimate humiliation...
He had absolutely no mind to spare for Dimogegen and Orcus.
He was the very picture of someone deaf to all things beyond his window.
In the end, after agonizing over it for dozens of seconds.
Dimogegen stared at Tyr for a while.
One head appeared rather calm, while the other looked quite enraged.
He said in a deep voice: