Death Storm

Ten-odd days later.

Destroying a wind-eye settlement and making tens or even hundreds of millions of living beings vanish with the wind in an instant was quite shocking to low-level creatures. To god-level beings, however, it was only natural.

More than a thousand witches, great and small, followed behind the Capricorn Duke. They pressed forward through the raging Death Storm, gradually disappearing into the wind and sand.

Though the group numbered only a thousand or so, every witch qualified to join the expedition was at least a Level Two!

Only then could they make their way through this Death Storm.

That was how the Molo Clan, which had established the Rotting Sand Tower United Kingdom, had been so easily destroyed by these Evil Witchers' rampage.

"That fellow Flagi used the Blood Law of his Evil Holy Grail to curry favor with the Duke. He's held so many blood sacrifices for him, and the Duke seems quite pleased. He must have gained quite a bit!"

The Despair Shadow Great Warlock King's dark red eyes turned toward the Evil Holy Grail Great Warlock King, who was whispering with the Capricorn Duke up ahead. A trace of anger showed in his eyes as he complained to the Dark Evil Shadow Great Warlock King beside him.

The scarecrow only cackled and said nothing more.

"We're the ones who got the short end of the stick. This wind eye is so barren that, aside from its ample supply of living, bloody flesh, there's practically nothing worth plundering. The Duke took the last native god's corpse, so the biggest winner was that old bat?"

"Cackle, cackle, cackle! But the loss of blood essence will give him plenty to suffer for!"

The scarecrow's words made the red-eyed witcher feel a little better.

Although they had destroyed the