Chewed frantically by tens of thousands of tiny insect mouths.
First, his limbs were dismembered and his torso hollowed out. Then came the magical energy within him, and finally, his face—once fairly handsome, now warped beyond recognition by extreme terror.
Every inch of skin, every strand of hair, every drop of filthy blood containing a Dead Apostle's magical energy was precisely, thoroughly, and completely digested by this swarm of insects that symbolized plague and death, leaving not a single trace behind.
A few seconds later, the swarm dispersed, turning back into grayish-white mist and slipping into the shadows underground, advancing toward the beds, gaps beneath counters, and nearby shadows of the next Dead Apostles.
—Jester Karture, confirmed dead.
Yet his death was merely the beginning. Cockroaches were that kind of creature: when you thought nothing had happened, they had already nested, marched, and bred in the shadows...
Then one day, they would suddenly appear on the beds where the Dead Apostles slept and gnaw them clean to the bone!
The number of Dead Apostles was steadily decreasing.
With Jester's death, Zealot suddenly felt a wave of weakness. The endless supply of magical energy from her Master, carrying the peculiar stench of decay and morbid fanaticism of a Dead Apostle, dried up completely in an instant.
This undoubtedly proved one thing—Jester was dead, utterly and completely dead.
Feeling the contract sever, Zealot did not panic. Instead, her eyes shone with unprecedented brightness, and the way she looked at Qianyi carried a hint of hope. "My Lord, if all the Dead Apostles and heretics died, would this world become better? Would it become a Garden of Eden without sorrow?"
"It might get better, or it might get worse. Either is possible. That's the answer." Qianyi answered without hesitation.
"Huh?" Zealot froze for