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Ultimately, first, Ouroboros had no particularly strong desire to save them. Second, since Amon considered him a "traitor" and "Sasrir's accomplice," anything he did would only confirm that "the City of Silver were traitors too," adding to these humans' crimes.
He did not want to pay a price for this place either.
Moreover, knowing why Medici and the others had come, he had already made a decision. His colleague mattered more. By comparison, he had even less attention to spare for the lives of a mere ten thousand or so people in this city-such was fate; choices always had to be made.
But within the limits of what he could do, Ouroboros would also guide the people of the City of Silver toward helping themselves.
Whether they could succeed, however, lay outside his considerations.
Ouroboros strolled quietly through the City of Silver. He went wherever he wanted and could stop at any time. The people around him seemed unable to see him, yet deftly avoided him whenever he stopped abruptly.
Suddenly, Ouroboros looked sharply into the distance, then immediately squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to look. It was as though raising his head had merely been a reflex, while closing his eyes was his instinctive response to a premonition of danger!
Fortunately, he had seen nothing. He only felt that the course of fate had suddenly turned strange, like a pool of muddied water.
"Why are you looking at me? Was that Ouroboros?"
Having just pushed open a door in the Black Monastery, taken a turn through a storm of concealment and lightning, and finally landed on the Eastern Continent fifty kilometers from his destination after spotting an interesting dream, the Lord of Withering had barely set foot on the Eastern Continent when he sensed a gaze