The moonlight was thick.
Deep in the Slums, in an abandoned clearing.
It was still as deathly silent as before.
The ripples stirring through space quietly subsided, and the frozen black-haired figure vanished from the spot along with those smoothed-out folds.
"Drip, drip, drop."
Scarlet blood gushed uncontrollably from the wound at his throat, almost gathering into a small pool on the ground.
Yet the blond, disheveled elf seemed not to feel any pain at all. He still maintained that strange, twisted posture, his face as cold and rigid as a dead man's.
He lifted his head slightly.
His unfocused, vacant eyes reflected the perfect silver moon at the center of the sky.
He stared at the pure white moonlight drifting softly above the clearing like gauze.
There was no exchange.
Or perhaps ordinary people simply could not perceive it.
It was like a faint breeze that vanished in an instant.
When the elf withdrew his gaze, that wisp of soft moonlight, like gauze and mist, also calmly dissolved into the depths of the night.
Tap—
It was the faint sound of a shifting footstep.
With the same swaying, staggering gait he had when he came, the blond elf turned as if to leave.
But he had only taken one step when his two long, slender calves turned into shattered bone and minced flesh, completely bursting apart.
Like a malfunctioning robot, the elf's body fell to the ground in an extremely rigid posture.
That viscous language, as if from another world and like an edict, was not something an adventurer who did not excel in physical strength could endure.
The blond elf lay paralyzed on the ground, and lava-like blood-red light marks surfaced across his skin at a speed visible to the naked eye.
It would not take long. After