"When the time comes, seeing is believing, and everything will be clear. Isn't that right, Your Excellency, God of Saxton? Or should I say, Your Excellency of the demon race?"
Nalant had always been so considerate. As for the gods' doubts, though the barrier blocked them off and kept any questions they wanted to ask from getting through, Nalant did not need them to convey anything. He had already thought on their behalf and was prepared to present the answer.
"Damn you, Nalant! I don't know what you're talking about. Your sea of consciousness has already been corroded by that black mist. You've gone mad!"
To Nalant's surprise, this God of Saxton did not admit so easily that he was a demon.
Faced with Nalant's questioning, he very cleverly used the black mist to try to cover himself up, or to muddy the waters.
After all, for more than a hundred thousand years, he, the God of Saxton, had always disguised himself extremely well.
"Very good, God of Saxton. Since you want to keep pretending so badly, then I'll be more than happy to play along with you!"
Seeing this, Nalant raised his longsword, and when the God of Saxton saw it, his gaze began to flicker.
He had just been about to shout surrender when he saw Nalant suddenly hurl more than a dozen linen sacks at him.
Any god who had watched Nalant's previous battles knew that Nalant's linen sacks were simply things that killed gods when gods stood in their way, and slew devils when devils blocked their path.
So even the God of Saxton did not dare delay in the slightest. He was so frightened that he temporarily did not even have time to shout surrender, instead continuously swinging his longsword to hack at those linen