"What!? How could that be!?"
The barbarian cultivator was struck with terror. He had clearly used a secret technique; his soul should have returned to the temple. How had it returned to this body instead?
"No, that can't be! This is an art taught by the priests—how could it possibly fail!?"
He then frantically activated the secret technique, but no matter how hard he tried, his soul seemed to have been locked inside this body, unable to move in the slightest.
Tap, tap.
Just then, Lorraine, wreathed in crimson light of judgment, descended before him as well.
"Elder Mosato, it has been a long time. The Venerable Lord wishes to invite you back for a chat."
At the sight of this young divine envoy, indignation instinctively surfaced in Mosato's eyes. He subconsciously wanted to open his mouth and denounce her actions.
But he suddenly remembered that his current strength was already far inferior to hers, so he forcibly swallowed the words that had reached his lips.
The fury on his face immediately transformed into an expression of concern and worry.
"Lorraine, you are one of the finest among the young divine envoys. I watched you grow every step of the way."
"I know all about what happened in the previous tribe. You must not listen to the wild ravings of these lowly people. The person they speak of is clearly a heretic!"
"What Venerable Lord? Have you forgotten the teachings of the priests?"
"Wake up quickly! Return to the temple with me, and do not let that heretic beguile you any longer."
Knowing that his strength was insufficient, Mosato changed his strategy and began to appeal to reason and stir emotion, hoping to persuade Lorraine with words.
Yet no matter how eloquently he spoke, Lorraine's expression remained calm, utterly unmoved.