Even a sliver of the power that flows through a Level 7 Wizard's fingers is enough to become a cataclysmic disaster for these elites among Level 6 Wizards.
Ronan, whose emotions had been suppressed for so long, rarely felt such relief. Turning his head, he found the handsome youth named Waliz quietly watching him.
"Thank you."
The youth spoke gently.
Ronan's gaze wavered for a moment, just as he was about to respond, he heard the youth whisper apologetically, "But... I'm sorry."
Ronan was taken aback at those words.
Immediately, he saw the youth before him suddenly scatter like dazzling fireworks.
In the distance, the silhouette of the White Witch King appeared silently.
Compared to before, he now looked extremely disheveled.
The white robe on him was covered with burn marks, and one of the double horns of the scales on his helmet had melted.
He stood alone; the other tall, powerful man who had been with him was nowhere to be seen.
