An intoxicating fragrance of wine wafted through the oasis, thick with the stench of blood.
The Wine God's Pot seemed to have been frightened senseless by the scene before it. Endless wine gushed madly from its spout and lid like surging waves, instantly flooding Prakash beneath it and the dried-up pool bed around him, continuing to spill outward.
Lin Qiye silently retreated several hundred meters.
Bang—!
Clutching the Wine God's Pot, a figure flew out of the sea of wine in a disheveled state.
Drenched from head to toe, he landed in the desert near the oasis and stared blankly at the wine pot in his hands.
"Miles, why does this Holy Grail make wine? Is this... is this normal?" Prakash's mind had gone completely blank as he asked instinctively.
Lin Qiye stood in the dim desert, smiling without a word.
Prakash reached out and touched his body.
The divine mark was still there. The wish he had made had not been fulfilled by the Holy Grail.
Frowning deeply, Prakash ignored the wine continuously overflowing from the spout in his hand and raised the "Holy Grail" again.
"I offer the lives of seventeen God's Agents and make a wish to the Holy Grail... erase the divine mark within me!"
This time, his voice was even louder than before.
Yet the dark-gold wine pot in his hand showed no change whatsoever, aside from continuously seeping wine.
At the edge of the desert, a faint glimmer of dawn tore through the darkness, and the pale light of morning rose in the east.
The deadline the two gods had left their agents was about to arrive.
Prakash, haggard from overtaxing his potential, immediately grew anxious. He looked up at Lin Qiye beside him and asked urgently,
"Miles, how exactly do I use this