Ⅲ
The night was deep, the sword of light scarlet.
Blood seemed to play the prelude to death.
When that sword of light appeared in the night sky above Dordot Harbor, its residents felt that the end of the world had come.
Everyone trembled uncontrollably.
At that moment, husbands held their wives, and wives held their children.
As ordinary people, they were powerless.
All they could do was pray silently.
Pray that all of this would pass.
Pray that their families would be safe.
And at that moment, those on the mystical side were hardly any better off.
In fact, they were suffering even more.
The existence of [spirituality] made them different.
It allowed them to enjoy privileged treatment in their daily lives.
But now?
The [spirituality] they had once taken such pride in only made them feel the terror of an Ascendant all the more clearly.
The death brought forth with blood as its catalyst made them feel as though they had fallen into an abyss.
Those with strong wills could barely remain standing.
Those whose wills were even slightly weaker lay prostrate on the ground.
Quiet sobs escaped their mouths.
After being affected by the Death Poetry Society's mystic art, [Death Abyss], they had fallen completely into hallucinations under the influence of the Blood Clan's secret treasure, [Blood of the Night].
But the Marquis of West Berlin was certainly not among them.
The ruler of West Berlin hovered in midair. Though his expression was grim, there was no panic, only an icy chill in his eyes.
"Dale Bock!"
The Marquis forced the name out through clenched teeth.
As the ruler of West Berlin, the Marquis naturally knew Dale Bock.
In fact, for a long time, he had even tolerated the man to keep the Church of Pain in