The Holy Light Energy immediately clashed violently with the residual Negative Energy, producing a series of SIZZLE SIZZLE SIZZLE sounds as faint wisps of white smoke rose from the wound.
The Long-Horned Giant grimaced in pain, but he stubbornly endured it without a sound. He just stared at the wound on his left shoulder, where the ghastly gray color was gradually fading, and panted heavily.
"Sir…" He swallowed hard, his voice dry with fear. "This bag of bones… what's its deal?"
Lynch didn't answer.
He stood up and looked at the Skeleton Mage, which was still standing there quietly.
The Soul Fire in its eye sockets was as calm as still water, its flickering frequency barely changing. It was as if the Death Ray that had nearly claimed the Giant's life was nothing worth mentioning—just a casual, routine action.
Lynch suddenly understood why the Undead Calamity was always the one to be collectively ganged up on and exterminated throughout the history of the Pan-Continent.
