"Lanchi, have you gone mad?"
Two days ago, Raschal had learned what happened when Lanchi was betrayed by his own people, as well as about his deranged rampage into the Honing Empire. He had felt that Lanchi's mind had already been nearly corrupted by Mental Rift.
Yet no matter how he looked at him now, Raschal felt that Lanchi's eyes remained clear—so clear that they made Raschal uneasy.
The never-before-seen Black Centipede Brand on Lanchi's left cheek was equally sinister, leaving Raschal unable to discern its principles.
"Not at all."
Lanchi casually hung the silver mask from his waist, his expression calm.
"I'm merely stating a fact."
He raised his chin slightly and met the gazes of the four Progenitors without the slightest hint of treating them as opponents.
"To be honest, I don't quite understand your reckless decision to risk entering Saint Tric alone, nor do I understand where your confidence comes from. I can clearly sense that the magical power in your body has fallen below mine."
Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bernhard paced back and forth as he analyzed the situation earnestly.
"So, do you really think putting on a show of strength is still useful? Lanchi."
As a scholar of the blood race, he seemed the most interested in having a heart-to-heart chat with the Pope.
"You're always the most enthusiastic about me."
Lanchi did not mind hearing what Ninth Progenitor Marquis Bernhard had to say.
He still had not figured out what exactly Marquis Bernhard's advice was.
"In my opinion, you should either launch a full-scale war and plunge the people of the Honing Empire back into the misery of war, or continue acting cautiously and die peacefully in this age of prosperity. Both paths have their advantages and disadvantages, but either is still better than what