Lynn abruptly cut off the replay of Remnants of the Past.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably. As though all his strength had drained away, he collapsed onto the ash-covered ground.
He clutched his head hard, gritting his teeth, his fingers almost digging into his skull.
[Ding! Your Resurrection Progress +1%] [Ding! Your Resurrection Progress +1%]
The number fixed over the pupil of his left eye changed once again.
The chill on his wrist seemed to come alive like a snake, coiling through his heart.
Around him.
Faint changes began to ripple. The diseased tissue beneath his feet slowly turned into pitch-black ashes amid that unnatural cycle, then gradually came alive again like churning mud.
At last.
He had no idea how much time had passed.
Panting, Lynn finally managed to suppress the madness in his heart.
Only the Ouroboros on his wrist had grown a little darker.
He climbed to his feet.
Holding up his torch.
He struggled deeper again, one step at a time.
He followed the dim corridor, walking step by step into the underground palace where the Matriarch slept, just as he had approached her door step by step when he first joined Dark Night City.
His footsteps echoed clearly.
The outlines of human figures reduced to ashes lay everywhere.
And when he finally entered the dark great hall, he saw a figure before the shattered doors. In that instant, Lynn's gaze sharpened.
But when he rushed over.
His footsteps stopped.
The golden blade was driven into the ground, still held fast in those undead hands. He knelt on one knee, diseased tissue crawling all over him, yet he had not turned to ashes like the others. It was as though an unimaginably powerful conviction and obsession had forcibly held