The chamber fell into stunned silence, and everyone stared up at the flickering image in the sky.
A battlefield, scorched and broken.
Flames burned in the background, tents torn apart by wind and fire.
The moans of the wounded could be faintly heard even through the spell's projection.
But it wasn't the chaos that held their attention.
It was the figure kneeling at the front—bloodied, but unmistakably Wilhelm.
"Is that… the Central Army camp?" Pasithea asked, her voice quiet and cold.
Mariam's expression darkened. "It is."
Anger surged in my body as I glared at the scene.
Maybe it was the way Wilhelm's body was slumped or maybe it was the man floating in front of them all—the Demiurge, Soren.
He looked the same when I saw him in my engagement.
There was nothing that stood out about him, yet I couldn't contain my anger.
He looked down at Wilhelm with a calm smile.
Then he spoke—and though it was on the projection, the spell made his voice echo across the entire palace:
