Li Xiao Bai, the Scapegoat
Staying shoulder to shoulder with the people at all times and never breaking away from the masses—our predecessors were right: the revolution could only remain invincible that way.
Li Bai didn't even need to lift a finger. He could make those little capitalist lapdogs learn the justice of the people's socialist sea in an instant.
Trying to feel superior by picking on the Great Demon was bound to end in humiliation.
Panicking like crazy, Wells Black scurried off with his butt cheeks clenched.
He was so angry he kept farting, which made him even more obnoxious. He was filthy and foul-smelling— even the British couldn't stand a guy like that.
He'd nearly cried. This was just too hard!
Watching the other man stagger away in a trail of foul-smelling smoke, Li Bai sighed. That guy really ought to see a doctor!
With his stomach acting up like that, he should try some inulin. It'd do his rear end good.
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"God of Strength, your memories really were erased. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to restore them."
The four "Saints" had gathered at the French branch outside Paris. After carefully examining Heracles Enzo Camillo, Sophia Green, the Danish writer and the "Saint" most skilled in Spell Arts, wore a helpless expression.
She had used her miraculous diary to bless Heracles with good luck, but it had done no good at all. There hadn't even been the slightest response.
Sophia Green, Konaukuwi—the Algerian "Saint" who wielded all kinds of strange Demonic Arts—and Tractor, the Inuit "Saint," had rushed to the French branch as soon as they heard that Hercules had suddenly lost his memory.
Konaukuwi, covered in strange Runes and ornaments, moved his thick lips uncertainly before speaking in a low voice. "It wasn't