But at that moment, the melting old assassin suddenly raised his head.
In that instant, an intense premonition of death surged into his heart. It was like wearing thin clothes while a freezing wind came sweeping in with a torrential downpour.
He looked up toward the direction from which the sense of danger had come, only to see an incomparably sacred and resplendent stag.
That was— Iver.
His appearance was just like Iver's, only far more solemn and dignified. A few black-and-gold patterns marked his face, making him look like some savage priest.
He was also draped in a Cardinal Bishop's black robe. His bulging muscles completely filled the loose garment, making it look like skintight clothing.
Enormous antlers rose from his head. One was as majestic as a halberd, while the other looked as though it had once been severed, making it less than half the size of its counterpart. The antlers radiated a lustrous sheen as warm and smooth as white jade, with faint black-and-gold auspicious-cloud patterns across them.
The Sin Thorns hung from Iver's back to the ground, covering his body like a cloak woven from thorns.
As the stag advanced, the surroundings grew brighter.
It was as if a New Sun were racing across the ground. The boiling heat and the radiance of midsummer sunlight blurred everything around it. By contrast, the stag itself looked somewhat black in that glow, like the wick of a candle.
"What... is that?"
"Thomas" muttered.
Of course he recognized Iver's face—as a top-tier assassin, he was not so forgetful that he could not remember his target's appearance. Even if the other party wore makeup and a disguise, he could identify their true identity at a glance.
But this sacred, resplendent form...
For a moment, Thomas found it difficult to accept.