[...You have slain an enemy.]
The Stone Saint tilted his head, looking at the corpse of the fallen deity.
'Whose voice was that?'
Many things seemed strange now that the battle was over. He vaguely senses that he was supposed to feel something now that the Spirit of Doubt was dead. Was it a sense of triumph? Or a sense of loss?
It was a rare and incredible feat, for someone Supreme to slay someone Cursed — not to mention a Cursed Tyrant, and one as insidious as the Puppeteer had been to boot. But the Stone Saint was not glad. He was a champion of the underworld, after all.
His victory was a matter of course.
He only felt pity that the beautiful black moth was no more. It had fought valiantly and deserved his respect. The death of an enemy like that was not a joyous occasion.
But it was also not something to feel so strangely about.
So why?
It was as if he was forgetting something.
'Ah… I see.'
The battle was not over yet.
