They were free.
This harrowing experience would not affect them in any way, because Qianyi had already erased their memories of it. When they returned home in confusion, they would only notice that their constitutions had grown considerably stronger than usual.
Only after doing this did Qianyi finally raise his eyes, his golden irises—especially bright in the dim surroundings, as though flames burned within them—turning toward the Master before him.
There was no anger in those eyes.
No killing intent.
No storm.
There was only an utterly frigid calm, so cold it seemed capable of freezing the air itself.
"Bazdilot Cordelion."
"Since you asked me that question, let me ask you one in return. In the process of turning these 24,976 people into magical-energy batteries, exactly..."
"How many bands did you break up? And how many Communities of Shared Destiny did you break apart?"
An unprecedented sense of agitation instantly filled the air, as if a large handful of magnesium powder had been ignited in a sealed room, only for all the oxygen to be sucked away a moment later, making even breathing difficult.
"You did something unnecessary, great hero of Greece." Bazdilot did not bother to verify what Qianyi had done.
He did not need to look.
The backlash transmitted through his magic circuits, along with the hollow sensation of having most of his magical-energy reserves drained in an instant, had already made it abundantly clear what had happened.
The life-force magic of 24,976 people—the magical workshop he had spent immense time and effort constructing, enough to sustain any Servant in the present world, support months of all-out combat, and allow for limitless Noble Phantasm use—
In that brief second just now, it had all been rendered useless.
The Servant he had only just summoned had completely severed its