The battlefield fell silent for a few seconds. On the Multi-Race Alliance's side, some of the beings began exchanging glances.
They were more wary of the End Apostles and knew better how terrifying they were. Naturally, they thought it was a good idea.
Unfortunately, they also knew they could never let word of this get out. The final decision rested with their leader.
At last, the silver-armored being gave a cold smile. "What are you afraid of?!"
He shot a fierce glare at his subordinates, then glanced involuntarily at the cargo hold the snail had been guarding all along. "Once we kill him, that thing is ours! He's just a Level 6 End Apostle. I'm here, so what are you afraid of?!"
The enormous snail opened its cavernous maw, revealing rows upon rows of sharp teeth. "Exactly. Nothing that happens here can get out. Otherwise, even if we get our hands on that thing, we won't be able to keep it! Don't be afraid. We have the advantage in combat strength."
On the other side, the Level 8 "Tripe" sent out a mental message tinged with apology. "I'm terribly sorry. You merely happened to pass by, but now that you know about our sacred relic, we absolutely cannot let you leave—even if you are an End Apostle!"
Benjamin's face twitched. "I can understand the Multi-Race Alliance—they're killing people for their goods, after all. But how the hell am I supposed to know what your sacred relic even is? I don't know a damn thing about it except its name!"
Tripe looked toward the cargo hold wrapped in mucus, without a trace of apology in its tone. "Sorry. Only the dead can keep secrets."
Benjamin sighed helplessly.
He rolled his shoulders. Spiritual Power began circulating through his body, which had fused