Beneath Bell lay a wide pool of congealed dark-red blood. Under his tattered noble attire, his skin was covered in cracks and scorch marks caused by energy backlash, as though he would shatter completely at the slightest touch.
His only remaining left eye hung half-open weakly, its unfocused pupil reflecting Samuel's blood-smeared yet youthful face, twisted with cruel delight.
The bloody hole in his forehead, left by the forcibly gouged-out vertical eye, was still slowly oozing viscous fluid.
Bell's lips moved faintly, as if he wanted to say something, but only a gush of foul blood mixed with fragments of organs spilled out.
The hatred in his eyes was like a candle flame in the wind—weak, yet stubbornly burning.
"Farewell, Bell." A savage grin of relief and long-awaited fulfillment appeared on Samuel's face. He gathered the last of his strength and drove his arm down viciously.
The shadow blade tore through the air, carrying the resolve to end everything as it pierced toward Bell's defenseless heart.
However, at the very instant the shadow blade was about to penetrate that shattered chest—
Bzzzz—
A deep hum brimming with immense life force erupted from within Bell without warning.
At the location of his heart, an incomparably complex mark made up of countless emerald vine-like runes suddenly lit up.
The mark was not physical, but a projection of pure energy. It gave off such rich life force that it refreshed the spirit. It stood utterly at odds with Bell's shadow power, yet fused perfectly with his dying body.
Samuel's shadow blade viciously struck the emerald runic mark. The expected sound of flesh being pierced never came. Instead, he felt as though he had stabbed into an ancient tree that had stood for ten thousand years—heavy, resistant, and unyielding.
The emerald light flared brilliantly.