The Limits of Hatred (Final)

Angron raised his head and gazed at the sky.

It was already noon. Nuceria's blazing sun should have arrived as promised, scorching the earth, but now it could only cower behind the clouds, barely casting any light. Vast swathes of blackness had stolen the sky's former clarity. On closer inspection, they did not even look much like clouds.

He was no stranger to this sight, but the other man beside him was seeing it for the first time. He stood there dumbfounded, having completely lost his usual composure and calm.

Even without using his gift, Angron could easily see the complicated thoughts currently running through Iskandar Khayon's mind.

However, he had no intention of explaining anything to him.

In truth, none of this could be made clear in just a few words.

The one-armed man calmly sat cross-legged, bent slightly forward, pressed his left hand flat against the ground, and applied gentle, steady force.

His palm was far rougher than this stony wasteland. The grit and gravel, formed over who knew how many years, gradually turned into fine dust beneath his hand before being pressed completely into the cracks between the rocks, filling some of the gullies.

Angron closed his eyes.

His senses spread softly outward and burrowed into the earth. A few seconds later, the gift that had once never failed him returned nothing but pure emptiness. He felt nothing, as though there had never been anything in that cave.

Angron sighed, unsurprised.

He understood that for a soul riddled with wounds and tormented beyond measure, death was likely what he desired most.

Yet he still hoped for another outcome.

Ten minutes passed in the blink of an eye, and the black clouds slowly dispersed. Their appearance had come without warning, yet now it was as though they had