After Aziz called out his own name, no reply came from inside the carriage.
A terrifying silence descended like a cold night, immersing him in icy water.
Aziz's heart suddenly jolted.
An inexplicable fear and unease surged through him—like swallowing a mass of buzzing echoes, or gently scraping his heart and liver with an ice blade.
The gold medallion above his head buzzed, urging him to leave quickly. The rose rosary around his neck had grown warm and sticky, as if touching sweaty skin. The belt around his waist undid its buckle on its own, while the feathers on his shoes trembled faintly—if he wished, he only needed to tap his heels together to teleport away.
Yet Aziz steeled himself and ignored all these ominous signs.
—There was absolutely no one in this world who could transcend their fate while remaining at ease.
The more dangerous a place was, the more opportunities it contained.
Aziz's life up to this point had repeatedly proven this truth.
He had no desire to stop here. He wanted to go even further.
Since that was the case...
"...Aziz."
An aged voice filled with complicated emotions came from within.
Aziz raised his head.
The carriage door opened, revealing an old Purist Ritualist standing at the entrance and looking down at him. Through the gap in the carriage, one could see that the tiny interior seemed to contain a palace.
This was a Divine Miracle—
The Savior's miracle!
Yet compared to the turbulent emotions in his heart, Aziz barely observed the Purist Ritualist's appearance or clothing.
That softhearted "white robe" would never accomplish anything. Aziz did not even need to study the other man to sense the complicated, gloomy hatred he harbored.
He had probably killed one of the man's teachers, or sacrificed one of his