Seeing that he could do nothing to Lynn, Leon took a deep breath, turned to the captain of his guards, and lowered his voice.
"Evacuate the crowd. Quickly."
The captain froze for a moment, then immediately turned and shoved his way into the crowd with the guards.
"Make way! Everyone, make way! Move to both sides! Don't push!"
The crowd began to move, but far too slowly.
There were tens of thousands of people in the square, yet only a few main passages. Ordinary civilians did not understand order or courtesy.
They cried out as they desperately squeezed toward the exits, terrified that being one step too slow would cost them their lives.
But these refugees were old, weak, sick, and disabled. The elderly could barely walk, children were being crushed into tears, and women clutching infants did not dare move.
The captain was drenched in sweat, his throat hoarse from shouting, yet the crowd had moved less than ten meters.
Lynn's hand suddenly stopped moving.
He lowered his head to look at the evacuating crowd, then glanced at Leon.
"Did I say you could leave?"
His voice was not loud, yet everyone in the square heard it clearly.
Everyone froze at once, and Leon's heart sank.
Lynn lifted the Spatial Storm from the armrest and casually tossed it down as though throwing away trash.
The grayish-white sphere of light fell from the sky like a plummeting star.
Leon's eyes widened.
If that attack landed, the entire square would become hell on earth!
Those people—the elderly, the women, the children—would all die.
His mind went blank. His hand rose on its own, his sword pointing toward the sky.
"Free Will!"
The sky lit up.
A golden beam shot down through the clouds, piercing the Spatial Storm, piercing the grayish-white sphere,