Gradually...
The snow grew heavier.
Wind began sweeping through the streets as well.
Amid the swirling wind and snow, visibility had dropped to less than five or six meters.
Katarina stepped away from the window and found a chair to sit in.
The hooded young man from the Southern Continent, his face pale from blood loss, asked, "Are you going to stay in Backlund?"
"Until they give me new instructions, yes."
"I'll remain in Backlund."
The Red Angel Evil Spirit snickered. "Actually, I'm quite interested in your lives. I'd like to know whether you had any psychological hang-ups about getting into bed with men when you first became a woman."
"Must I answer?" Katarina asked, her beautiful face almost expressionless.
Medici laughed. "You don't have to, but I think I know the answer."
"You must have felt terribly conflicted during that period."
"On the one hand, you still hadn't shifted away from thinking of yourself as a man. On the other, the potion made you unable to resist seeking pleasure."
"Perhaps that made it all the more exciting for you."
"I have to say, the Primordial really is a twisted deity."
"Mocking the Primordial does you no good, my lord," Katarina said flatly.
Medici shrugged. "True, but I don't care."
"She can't descend anyway, nor would she dare descend here."
The young man from the Southern Continent was about to say more when he suddenly whipped his head toward the sitting room door.
At the same moment, a knock sounded.
Then, without waiting for Medici to respond, the door swung open, and grayish-white mist poured through it.
A figure emerged from the mist.
He wore a red double-breasted coat, a matching silk top hat, and round spectacles with tinted lenses.
It was Dean Wengris, the Demigod of the Iron and