"King Mask?!"
The moment Lin Qiye saw that gray-clad, white-haired figure, he blurted out his name.
King Mask stood before Lin Qiye as chunks of flesh and blood rained down onto the snow in front of him. Yiyuan at his waist slid back into its sheath.
Only after confirming that Isis would be unable to regain mobility anytime soon did he turn around, about to say something. But when he saw Lin Qiye's current condition, he froze slightly.
"Lin Qiye, your realm..."
A miserable smile appeared on Lin Qiye's blood-smeared face.
King Mask was somewhat confused. He glanced at the mangled Isis in the distance, then swept his gaze over the devastated battlefield before it landed on the emblem lying in the snow.
It was as if he had realized something. He stood there like a statue.
After an unknown amount of time, deep wrinkles furrowed his weathered, ravine-lined face.
His body began to tremble uncontrollably.
Endless rage and madness surged from his eyes.
With a low roar, he drew Yiyuan from his waist once more. Breaking through the wind and snow, he flashed before Isis, who was a bloody mess but still not dead.
His hands trembled as they clenched the hilt. The age-spotted knuckles had turned pale from exertion. Staring fixedly at the body beneath him, he raised the snow-white blade high and drove it madly into Isis's body again and again.
His suppressed roars echoed through the whimpering wind and snow. Drifting snowflakes danced with his movements as he stabbed the slowly regenerating mass of flesh in the snow dozens of times like a madman. Only when she had been reduced to chunks of meat scattered across the ground, staining the surrounding snow red, did he finally release the hilt with trembling hands.
He collapsed helplessly to