"Crack-"
Starting from Roland's fingers, particles of light poured down like a river, or scorching lava falling during a volcanic eruption.
Then fine cracks rapidly spread across Curtana First.
Carissa's expression turned serious.
She could feel scorching, formless masses slowly filling her surroundings. With the integrity of its vessel compromised, Michael's Angel Power had gradually begun leaking out of Curtana First.
But that was not the point.
Though Curtana First was sturdy, it was hardly indestructible. Damage was only natural when it faced a monster like this.
The problem was that the power in her body was dropping at an astonishing rate, far faster than the Angel Power was escaping.
Yet strangely, despite clearly feeling her power steadily decline, Carissa felt neither exhaustion nor pain.
Rather than having her power stolen, this change felt more like her conceptual state was being reset.
Like stripping away the dross to keep the essence, restoring a heavily modded game to its original version.
This man was extracting, bit by bit, Curtana's original concept of determining Britain's king, a definition that history and culture had already muddled.
"...Phew."
Roland sighed softly.
He had complained earlier that Curtana was barely satisfactory as a weapon.
But looking at it another way, it could hardly have been more suitable as raw material.
Had its independent consciousness been too strong, he would probably have needed to expend more effort. Extracting a concept to serve as a key was delicate work, after all.
Moreover, given the importance of the participant who would come next, he would not allow himself the slightest carelessness or error.
Then Roland focused his attention on the Magic Crest on his hand.
Every unnecessary emotion vanished from his dark red eyes, leaving only an ever-growing smile.
It was like opening his front door to find