The transmission returned to Vergil as if it had never left him.
There was no announcement.
There was no suspense.
The camera simply found him walking.
The territory ahead was no longer ordinary forest. The ground was uneven, marked by recent craters, uprooted trees, and columns of residual energy still pulsing in the air. There, the battle between Angelo and Wu Tian had left scars too deep to ignore. The very mana of the environment was unstable, vibrating like a wounded field.
In the center of that devastation…
Angelo was still standing.
Exactly where the fight had ended.
His armor was impeccable, without visible cracks. His metallic wings partially open, motionless, like sculptures suspended in the air. The sword rested in his hand with the naturalness of something that was part of his body—not a weapon, but an extension of the function for which it was created.
Vergil entered that territory as one invades an empty room.
