Monchi himself had never expected to see Angel in this manner.
The puppet he had sent out was still some distance from the center of the battlefield, unable to capture the finer details. But it could clearly make out a dark-skinned, short-haired woman, followed by a man and a woman.
Judging by her appearance, the woman was clearly a Half-Blood Demon. The man, meanwhile, was dressed in the standard attire of a noble—handsome and upright.
For a moment, Monchi even thought he was seeing Sanders.
It had to be said that, judging from their clothing, Sanders and Angel both clearly belonged to the traditional aristocratic school. Yet upon closer inspection, the difference in their temperaments became apparent.
Once the battle began, Monchi's gaze was drawn to the short-haired woman.
Her lightning-fast slaughter, her terrifying control over wind, her peerless strength—all of it far exceeded Monchi's imagination. There was no need to say it: this woman had to be the supreme powerhouse at Angel's side!
Within a short time, hundreds of demons had been swiftly killed by her with casual, effortless means.
As the blood rained down in a fluttering shower, the ground became a complete mess, with nothing left but flesh, blood, and scraps.
She was a killing machine born by nature. Every wizard who witnessed this scene fell silent. Dense masses of demons also surrounded the floating ice, and those demons were not much weaker than the ones she had slaughtered. Yet they had held the wizards back for dozens of minutes without yielding an inch, while this woman had reduced every last demon to bloody pulp in mere moments.
And when she killed demons, she did so as easily as lifting a hand, as though it had cost her not the slightest effort.
Just imagine—if this woman came