The Hour of Judgment (III)

The wind by the lake suddenly turned foul and bloody. The crimson moon reflected in the rippling water, and the lake itself seemed to steam with the color of blood.

Louise had often seen scenes in gunfight films at the cinema where two groups faced off with submachine guns. Even in reality, she had seen ordinary people killed by gunfire. But now, she had become the protagonist of such a film, with more than a dozen wands aimed at her, Amosta, and Kingsley.

Compared to the black muzzles of guns, being threatened with little wooden sticks was somewhat ridiculous. But these were no ordinary sticks—they were wands with all manner of unimaginable powers!

And the icy eyes and murderous intent on the tense faces of those holding the wands were anything but ridiculous.

Without realizing it, Louise began to tremble and staggered backward.

"There won't be any danger—"

Amosta turned to glance at Louise and said humorously,

"If you're scared, you can close your eyes and cover your ears."

"I'm not a coward!"

Louise muttered indignantly. Still, the fear in her heart did ease considerably at Amosta's teasing joke. She took a deep breath and looked at the wizards opposite them, dressed in all manner of clothing and ranging widely in age. At last, her gaze settled on the tall woman. Either she or Angus Escuros was the one who had killed her brother.

Amosta ignored Jasna's question. He swept his gaze over the outwardly fierce but inwardly weak group once more, his tone carrying a hint of disappointment.

"Is this everyone?"

"How much do you know about us, Breen—"

Having received no answer, a flash of anger crossed Jasna's eyes. She restrained herself and asked coldly.

"In my opinion,"

Amosta replied calmly,

"you should put down your wands, come