"I've brought them."
In Fu Qian's observation room, the Lady of the Holy Hall had already called out toward the ruins of the small chapel.
The response was intense. Several individuals dressed identically to her almost simultaneously lifted their heads, clearly having anticipated this for a long time.
"Pleased to meet you."
Unperturbed, Fu Qian smiled amiably and greeted them, his gaze sweeping over the structure that was now little more than a foundation.
It couldn't have been more different from the scenes in his nightmare—far beyond the category of age-induced collapse; it was as though Godzilla had stomped through twice.
It was difficult to resist imagining what might have happened here.
"Which one is Lord Praut?"
That thought, however, didn't dampen Fu Qian's eager curiosity. He turned to Amila the next moment and asked.
"...The one seated."
