Carl froze, then an intense will to live blazed in his eyes.
Without a moment's hesitation, he screeched toward the sky, "Lynch! Dad! Save me! Save me!! Dad, save me!!"
As long as he could live, he wouldn't just call him Dad—he'd accept Lynch as his actual father without a shred of hesitation.
The words had barely left his mouth.
A woman's voice, cool and tinged with disgust, drifted down from the sky.
"Lynch, you brat. If you dare claim another son, don't blame me for getting rough."
The voice, of course, belonged to the Moon Priestess.
It was no wonder she was displeased.
Ever since that brat Lynch had shamelessly adopted her as his mother, she'd felt awkward at first, but over time, she had gradually grown used to the role and even come to accept it.
But she had just gotten a good look at what kind of person Carl was. If he were to become her grandson, wouldn't she be disgusted to death?
