Time rewound to half a minute earlier.
Angel had confidently begun making his signature dish: Magic Bread.
Laplace also watched the activated Mystic Ritual Box with great interest, waiting for the final result.
At first, everything had gone well.
As the "Sweet Wind, Honeyfire, and Sugarvine Growth" ritual took shape inside the box, all manner of floral illusions began spreading from the porcelain box covered in rose branches, and a sweet fragrance drifted through the air.
It was as though, in the next second, a shallow yet incomparably sweet stream of dreams would come leaping out of the box.
Angel looked equally confident. Everything had been flawless.
But just as Laplace felt certain that the finished product would be excellent, the sweetness in the air suddenly changed. It became cloying and greasy, and the sweetness began to break apart, decomposing into sour and foul odors...
Laplace had not even reacted before she noticed that the illusory rose patterns spreading around them had begun to blacken, wither, and turn ink-dark. Only then did she sharply turn her head and look toward the lid of the Mystic Ritual Box.
At some unknown point, the lid had cracked open slightly, and black smoke was continuously billowing out through the gap.
It was like compressed black ash, fermented over several centuries, being poured straight out of an opening and becoming a black-ash waterfall made of sludge.
And this waterfall of black-gray smoke and dust gave off a nauseating stench.
Laplace could not even find words to describe the smell.
She had merely taken one breath, yet already felt slightly dizzy.
"What happened?" Laplace looked at Angel and endured the discomfort as she communicated through mental power. She did not dare speak aloud, fearing that the black ash might accidentally rush into her body.
Angel