After the crew of the Fool began hanging the Winged Devils' heads from the bed of a military truck, everyone in the Crystal Battle Fortress who heard the news rushed over to watch. Seeing the people from the Fool at work, no one else could utter a word.
Those Winged Devil heads had been preserved exceptionally well and were still fresh. Each one was savage and terrifying, many still bearing the expressions they had worn at the moment of death.
After receiving Zhang Tie's orders, the Fool's crew began hanging the Winged Devil heads from the back of the truck bed, one by one and row upon row, like lanterns and pumpkins, piling them high.
Everyone looking at that vehicle was stunned senseless. No one knew what words could possibly describe that military truck covered in Winged Devil heads.
Was it terrifying? A little, perhaps. But even more stirring than terror—more capable of making one's blood boil, of filling one's entire body with immense strength at a single glance—was the sky-piercing pride and fearless bearing that truck conveyed: a contempt for all things, a view of the Devil Race as nothing more than dirt chickens and clay dogs.
The heads of those powerful Devils were, here, merely cargo and decorations for this truck.
The Winged Devils who had once filled Selnes's skies with terror were now using their lives to become these inconspicuous embellishments.
Even the Devil Race, which slaughtered and trampled humans as though they were livestock and food, had a day when they would be slaughtered and trampled like livestock.
What was strength? This was strength!
What was badassery? This was badassery!
"Quick, quick, quick! Where's the base photographer? Get a photo of me in front of this truck!" The moment the Devil heads had been arranged,