Vines coiled around Wilt's neck, nearly suffocating him as he struggled desperately.
But Murphy remained unmoved, watching the man approaching from across the way with a meaningful look.
"Merlin. Son of God."
The magical power flowing through the other man far surpassed that of an ordinary wizard. Its level had nearly reached that of a deity, yet unlike ordinary gods, his magic did not seem to come from the conversion of faith. It seemed more like something borrowed.
In that respect, he was somewhat similar to Murphy.
That Merlin was also observing Murphy's reaction. He had tortured Wilt only to give this wizard of unknown origins a show of force and probe his background. But seeing that Murphy seemed utterly unconcerned by his actions, he gritted his teeth inwardly. Killing intent flashed in his eyes, and the vines suddenly tightened, about to snap Wilt's neck.
At that moment, a wisp of breeze swept over the vines with incredible speed, slicing them into countless fragments like a sharp blade.
Wilt collapsed weakly onto the ground, but Murphy did not look at him. Instead, he looked toward "Merlin." "I've only just arrived, and I don't want to cause trouble. But you seem quite hostile toward me. Could you explain why?"
Merlin glanced at the severed vines. He could do the same thing himself, merely by turning magic into sharp wind blades. But Murphy had done it far too easily. He had needed neither ritual nor tool, nor had he chanted any lengthy incantation. Merlin had not even seen him make a single movement—this was not something an ordinary wizard could accomplish.
That made him even more wary of Murphy, though he grew more cautious as well. "This is my camp, and as you can see, we are preparing for a war. But