Beyond the era, that Demon Dragon sat upon a magnificent throne, puffing on a massive pipe, while the wizards of the Black Sun Tower performed a sacrificial ritual before him.
The Demon Dragon tapped the armrest of the enormous throne with his pipe. As the pipe struck the armrest, gray-white ash shook loose and fell. The wizards of the Black Sun Tower all changed expression drastically. Each flake of that gray-white ash was as large as a mountain and contained boundless Magic Pressure.
The smoke the Demon Dragon inhaled was no ordinary tobacco. It was a derivative of a High-Ring Magic Plant—the embers of the past.
He was not smoking tobacco, but the power of faith belonging to the entire Wizard Civilization of the past.
The High-Ring Wizards of the Black Sun Tower all felt their breathing grow labored, their hearts race, and unease gnaw at them. Countless voices appeared in their ears, all cursing and roaring. Every negative prayer drifted out from the scattered ash.
A Third-Ring Wizard forced himself to speak. "Your Highness, Demon Dragon, our Authority is insufficient to bear this power of faith. If this continues, we will all be assimilated by it. Did we do something wrong?"
The Demon Dragon extinguished his pipe.
"Weak. Far too weak."
"Pathetic. Far too pathetic."
"You want to truly join the Black Sun Tower? You can't even withstand a little of the embers of the era."
"I ordered you to investigate who had repeatedly disturbed the Erasure Curse. So many days have passed. Why have you found nothing?"
The Third-Ring Wizard who had spoken hesitated before saying, "Your Highness, we haven't found anything. A force has intervened."
A voice fell from the throne. "Who?"
The Third-Ring Wizard replied, "Golden Crown Mountain."
The Demon Dragon said impatiently, "Then remove it."