Xia Nan's gaze followed "my" viewpoint, moving away from the corpse on the ground and turning toward the tightly shut doors of the church behind him.
He pondered inwardly.
There was no doubt that, whether judging from the familiar priest's robe on the other party or from the severed neck and left arm—the dried corpse from before had wounds in the same places—this seemingly dead priest was none other than the opponent he had just fought to his heart's content.
But if the scene before him was not a delusion, but a real event that had once taken place in another stretch of space-time, then how had the priest he had seen with his own eyes being killed by "me" come back to life, and even turned into that dried-corpse-like living dead?
And the gray-black magic staff with the orange-red crystal set into its tip, which he had clearly watched "me" take from the priest's hand, why had it returned to the altar?
Xia Nan was filled with confusion.
Yet for some reason, when his thoughts began turning and he considered the cause behind it all, What first surfaced in his mind was the pair of sorrowful, compassionate, mournful eyes on the goddess's divine statue—those bright yellow vertical snake pupils, no different from those on the priest's serpent head.
The memory had not ended.
The viewpoint swayed. Along with the sound of metal armor scraping, two iron gauntlets braced against the church doors.
Then slowly pushed them open.
Buzz—
The glaring sunlight made "me," who had spent a long time inside the dim interior of the church, narrow my eyes involuntarily.
What came into view was a bustling, spacious street.
Even though, in both its overall atmosphere and the intactness of its buildings, it was worlds apart from the narrow