Above the sky, an energy surge rushed like a tsunami.
The Saint Heir stood at the center, arms outstretched, and his dark gray robe moved without wind, its spiral emblem seeming to come alive and slowly rotating.
Three witches stood in a triangular formation one hundred meters behind him, eyes closed, with silver threads of spiritual power extending from their brow, connecting to the complex array that appeared behind the Saint Heir's head.
The mental energy fluctuations of the four were completely synchronized, as if they were one.
"Naive arrogance must be cleansed by pain." The Saint Heir's voice was icy as he lifted his hand and pressed down.
The attack arrived instantly.
The space within a hundred meters around Jeming suddenly contracted inward, with invisible barriers closing in from all directions.
