By now, it had become a Tier Three spellcasting unit. The Soul Fire in its eye sockets was solid and vibrant, its intelligence grew by the day, and it could even handle complex matters on its own.
Right now, it was hunched over, Magic Staff in hand, patrolling among the cages. From time to time, it would poke a half-dead Naga with its sharp, bony finger, checking its vital signs.
Its movements were practiced and sleazy, the very image of a seasoned old jailer.
Seeing Lynch descend from the sky on his Skeleton Flying Dragon, the Fish Priest quickly scurried over and respectfully gave a standard military salute.
As its Soul Fire flickered, it transmitted sycophantic and loyal mental waves, as if to say, "Great Master, your loyal warden reports for duty!"
One had to admit, the Fish Priest's salute was textbook-perfect. It had clearly practiced a great deal in secret. Its heart, its eyes, its entire posture—everything screamed the word 'loyalty'!
