For many, tonight is destined to be a sleepless night.
The Guardians of the Contract Land, representatives of the Seven Great Churches, all gathered around an opened tent, staring at the enormous dead body inside.
The corpse belonged to the Prison Director, seemingly severed by some powerful force, with strange tentacles protruding from the abdominal cut, intertwined with the sealing chains of the upper body, making it difficult to discern for a moment.
But the fact that he is dead cannot be disputed.
The Prison Director of the Contract Land, very possibly a living fossil from ancient times that survived until today, died silently just like that?
"Do you have anything more to say?" The leading Guardian coldly gazed at Isaiah, who was surrounded by Guardians but showed little change in expression.
"I have nothing to say," Isaiah said calmly, "because it wasn't me."
