Footsteps echoed in the blood-soaked, pitch-black hall, the painful groans lingering in Azeryan's ears.
"...kill me...kill me..."
The bound prisoners struggled on the rack, their eyes gouged out, desperately trying to cry for help.
The young knight's gaze swept over the bloodied sinners before him, hatred seeping from his eyes, yet there was also a hint of wavering.
Turning his gaze away, he looked toward the terrifying figure drinking blood ahead.
"Father."
Azeryan called out.
The crimson figure paused slightly, then released the mutilated body in his hands.
Allowing the withered body to slide down, Charlemagne slowly turned around, his pitch-black sclera and terrifying bloody gaze locked on the newcomer.
Azeryan couldn't help but feel a sense of unfamiliarity, as if countless illusory images overlapped on his father's body, momentarily unsure if it was still his father.
"...Ah Qi."
