"--"
"I see. Thank you for your explanation."
After understanding the deeper meaning behind the low hum, Moros felt enlightened.
According to the Cocoon of Finality, magic was not the exclusive privilege of necromancers in the vast, boundless known universe, but a far more widespread phenomenon.
During this time, it had already split off a strand of consciousness and sent it across vast distances to explore the expansive realms beyond the Solar System.
From the information sent back by that strand of consciousness, magic was regarded by interstellar sages as a special form of technology rather than a mysterious power unique to necromancers.
Since magic was not a one-of-a-kind existence, the Cocoon of Finality displayed a rare degree of tolerance and patience.
It was willing to continue observing Moros's development as a bystander rather than directly capturing and studying him.
Of course, the necromancer did not believe that claim in the slightest.
But he understood very clearly that before the overwhelmingly powerful Cocoon of Finality, even if his heart was filled with doubts and distrust, he had to act as though he believed it completely.
That was the bare minimum respect due to the Cocoon of Finality's power, which stood above the stars.
Moros understood that in this world where the strong devoured the weak, strength was the truth that decided everything.
No matter its reasons, since the Cocoon of Finality was now willing to grant him a certain degree of space and freedom, Moros needed to make use of that rare tolerance to secure more opportunities for growth and development.
At that thought, a glint of wisdom flashed through the necromancer's eyes.
He slowly put away the Underworld Staff in his hand, wearing an expression of complete trust in the Cocoon of Finality.
Of course, that was merely a