Pink iridescence flickered, and the gradually fading Magic Particles turned into specks of starlight, dimming in the air.
Ingram shifted his gaze away from the two people in the forest ahead who had been controlled by [Hold Person].
Without the physical enhancement brought by Profession Level, if they had failed to resist the erosion of Magic Power from the very beginning, then afterward, it would basically be difficult for them to break free in a short time.
He paid no mind at all to the blood and bits of flesh staining his fingertips.
He bent down, cupped the gravedigger's head in both hands, and set it squarely atop the skeleton, in the position of the skull.
The old man was no necromancer, and the ritual book Ingram had given him contained no spells at all.
An ordinary man died with one hammer blow.
It was the guards who had helped escort him that had taken a little more effort.
But compared with Ingram, who was close to taking up a profession, they were still far inferior.
Two hammer blows, or three?
It did not matter.
A slight breeze stirred the fallen leaves.
The flesh and blood on the gravedigger's head rapidly melted and dissolved like muddy water.
The bones trembled, as if some invisible force were brewing and gathering above the sigil array, trying to piece the bones within it together.
"Don't rush."
The Sheriff murmured.
His palm, dripping blood, had already gripped the iron handle of the Prism Hammer at his waist.
Bang! Metal whistled through the air.
Flesh mingled with bone splattered like fruit juice under the hammerhead's strike.
Tim, who had been completely undeadified and had lost all consciousness, toppled backward onto the ground.
Above his shoulders, there was nothing at all.
The Sheriff's expression remained calm,