Since the Continuance Institute said to continue, then continue they would.
Huai Shi unceremoniously dug a tube of Source Matter extract out of the box and poured it into his mouth. After replenishing the chunk of his mana bar that had dropped, he casually stuffed the rest into his pocket.
Free wool delivered to the door—might as well shear it!
Yet the Continuance Institute's visitor remained unmoved, as though he had seen nothing at all and did not care in the slightest.
He merely waited for the following data and results.
Forging, resume!
This time, Juzumaru Tsunetsugu merely gave a low hum in Huai Shi's hand before vanishing without a trace, as though it had evaporated, without any warning.
But at that instant, Huai Shi felt his scalp prickle as light footsteps came from the empty space behind him.
Everyone present felt a chill rise within their hearts.
Beside the Sword Saint's wheelchair, the attendant had already frozen stiff, sensing the bone-deep cold at hand.
Behind that white-haired old man, within the dim shadow, a faint outline emerged.
It resembled a monk wearing a bamboo hat, draped in dark crimson robes, layers of prayer beads wrapped around its wrists and neck, while its face remained hidden in the darkness beneath the hat.
Only a faint bloody glow outlined the position of its eyes.
It was lowering its head, looking down at the old man's back.
Kamizumi showed no reaction. Even his clouded eyes did not waver in the slightest.
"What is it, fake monk?" he asked hoarsely. "Thinking of saving me?"
"Too late." The monk shook its head impassively. "Benefactor, your worldly attachments burn fiercely, your six senses are defiled, and your sinful karma has accumulated deeply. You have long fallen into the realm of Abhi Hell. The Buddha's teachings