Deathly silence spread like a plague through every corner of the circular stands.
Tens of thousands of eyes stared fixedly at the arena, their pupils trembling as if they had witnessed truth itself collapse.
Wenus—the favored champion, the genius who stood at the pinnacle of his generation—had not even left behind a shred of his soul.
Just moments ago, he had been like a stroke of ink wiped away, utterly devoured by that strange darkness.
And the culprit was Ang, the quiet, unremarkable figure who had always stood in the corner without any presence to speak of.
Mid Third Circle, yet he possessed a terrifying foundation that made even souls tremble.
The platform had already been completely shrouded in ink-black shadows. Light twisted and vanished here.
Dago stood in the center of the darkness, his chest rising and falling.
At his heart, the Bloodline Crystal embedded in his flesh pulsed madly.
"Thump, thump, thump..."
Every beat was like a heavy hammer striking deep within his eardrums.
With each surge of blood, countless ancient, obscure fragments of memory flowed backward through his veins, washing over Dago's cerebral cortex.
They were an inheritance from the depths of the Behelet bloodline.
Ancient scenes flashed through his mind.
Creatures known as Elder Fallen Crows soared through those yellowed memories.
They nested in fear and fed on chaos. Cunning and vicious, they were despised by the gods.
Dago slowly inhaled, cold air filling his lungs with a faint, rusty scent of blood.
Countless scenes involving Ang flashed through his mind.
Their past encounters, conversations, even careless exchanged glances—all of them were now tinted with an eerie hue.
But this sudden truth did not cloud his mind.
Every emotion—shock, doubt, wariness—was frozen by the solid ice called reason and sunk into the darkest depths of his