One round.
Another round.
The next round.
Fatty Xin had gone from nervous vigilance to numb distraction, and now to yawning nonstop. In his mind, he had already devised a hundred and eighty punishments for that branch.
Around the magic array.
More than half of the little red grasses formed from Dylan's blood essence had developed abnormalities—a small patch had rotted away,
a small patch had withered, a small patch had succumbed to the desolation law, a small patch had been forgotten, a small patch had turned to ash, a small patch had had its roots, stems, and leaves separated, a small patch had fallen ill, a small patch had aged, and so on. Laws akin to death had been invited down one after another by Xiao Xiao's ritual array. The little lawn was crowded with black birds of every size and bizarre shape.
"Would death be a bird too?"
Zhang Jixin folded his arms, sidled up to the Fat Wizard, and asked through a yawn, "What kind of bird do you think it'll be? My guess is a crow. I thought it would be like that little jade figure said—a death god, something like a soul-reaping messenger..."
The Fat Wizard gloomily watched the Diviner, who was still circling the magic array on stiff legs.
This was the most frustrating situation of all.
If they had failed to summon even a single law, they would have given up long ago and tried something else. The problem was that this approach clearly worked; the odds of success were just a little low.
That made it rather vexing.
What frustrated Xin even more was that every summoning consumed his snacks.
"I don't know whether it'll be a crow. All I know is, whatever bird comes down, I want to pluck it bald