It was a spell fluctuation he could hardly describe. It was neither especially strong nor especially subtle; it had nothing to do with those familiar measures. It was not strange so much as utterly unprecedented, a sensation he had never felt before.
Ruger stood frozen.
The old Wizard's stride did not change in the slightest.
The chunks of flesh scattered across the ground were all that remained of Ernites, a dead Two-Ring Wizard. They were also a display of power, and proof of how carefully the Holy Tribunal handled its affairs. Sending Wizard Benson had been an inspired choice. Perhaps the days they had spent waiting had been the time needed to bring the old Wizard here from elsewhere.
Plop! Plop!
The old Wizard studied the distant tower with interest, occasionally looking up to survey the circular plaza as he walked at an unhurried pace.
Ruger blinked.
He was turning over what he had felt in that instant.
Ernites, who had died once and come back to life in that instant, had lost all vitality and been reduced to scattered scraps. Yet there seemed to be less torn flesh than there should have been—far less, perhaps more than half of it missing. Once he had calmed down, Ruger recalled that a portion of Ernites's soul power seemed to have vanished just as suddenly. What remained could not sustain itself and slowly dissipated, like the Hand Lantern that had already dispersed.
What kind of power was that?
As Ruger wondered, a short Demon rose from the scraps of flesh, Ernites's blood still clinging to its body.
A Demon? The Demon stood a little higher than an ordinary person's waist. It looked dazed as it got to its feet, then shook its head as if coming to its senses. The world did