The culprit who had started the war against the Elves had finally been beheaded. It should have been news that rolled off every tongue, yet many showed little interest, finding it as tasteless as chewing chicken ribs—hardly as satisfying as they had imagined.
Instead, Rooney's grand declaration before his death was copied down by those with ulterior motives. The more they savored it, the more endless its flavor seemed.
No one paid any more attention to the hastily erected execution platform. The councilors left in a hurry. Next, Triangle City would organize a grand negotiation, and the Elven delegation's arrival would bring discussions over specific deployments against the Demon.
Of course, everyone understood that the true focus was the aftermath of the war. Half the legion's soldiers were still being held by the Elves. How the Triangle Council would bring those people back was the utmost priority.
On the execution platform, Li Ziran felt as though his entire soul had been trapped at the center.
He was very clear-headed. Even without a body, his thoughts had been preserved remarkably well.
This method was nothing much. He could slip through a crack and enter a flea's body, then slip back out again.
The tears had worked wonderfully.
Looking at the crimes once painted on the pillar, he finally understood why they had needed that mute to apply them. It had been art through and through.
The crooked, twisted writing looked utterly uncoordinated. Most of the time, one could barely recognize it as the common tongue. Yet those very distortions formed another kind of formation. Nearly every character was linked together, and the way the markings split and filled one another happened to create a Soul Formation centered on Li Ziran.
The ones on his face had merely been the formation's core.