“Open the chamber.”

Sorin’s voice was hauntingly cold, a threat that seemed to force the air out of everyone’s throats. The demonic beasts behind him suddenly stirred as if they heard his order.

He took a step forward, the archmage still cradled in his arms. “If not, then I guess all of you will perish in this empty hall.” It was the truth, a chilling finality of their impending fates.

They only had to choose whether they would die a swift death or perish under the insatiable appetites of Sorin’s beasts.

The mages exchanged tear-stained glances with one another, contemplating their next course of action. After the attack, only a few of them remained, and they couldn’t risk another fight with the demons.

“...You Heretic,” a mage snarled at him.

Sorin’s eyes widened at the mage’s words. His head turned to the one who spoke, and a sickening feeling rose in his chest. His mouth parted as if he was going to retaliate, but the words died on the back of his tongue.

Instead, Sorin smiled.

“Why are you protecting those old fools? They left you here to die while they stay safe inside the chamber.”

Silence once again enveloped the room, a macabre symphony that resonated in Sorin’s ears. They couldn’t even find a reason to justify their sacrifices—how pathetic, he thought to himself.

“E-Enough with this exchange, I’m getting tired,” Neve whispered to Sorin, causing the saint to frown. “I said, I’ll heal you,” he said in a playful tone, as if he were jesting with the archmage.

“I want nothing to do with your divine magic. I hate the gods,” Neve shot back, her tone dripping with mockery and bitterness.

“But it’s not from those uncaring gods,” Sorin frowned.

“I said, I don’t want it.”

Neve’s resolve remained unwavering despite Sorin’s insistence. With a resigned sigh, Sorin redirected his attention to the mages. His demonic beasts had already cornered them by the giant doors of the council’s chambers.

His eyes bore into them, an unsettling blend of amusement and cruelty as if he were merely toying with insects.

Then, the doors swung open, their loud creaking echoing throughout the blood-stained walls of the Sanctum.

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The smile that had traced itself on Sorin’s lips warped into something far more sinister. It resembled nothing less than a feral beast baring its teeth at its prey.

Sorin was playing with them.

“Enough bloodshed, Saint,” a voice boomed, its power augmented by magic. “The Sanctum will accept any of your terms as long as you don’t harm any of our mages.”

Sorin dismissed the words of those puny old men and took a step forward. His movements were unhurried and casual, as if he were merely strolling.

The surviving mages stumbled into the council’s chamber, relief washing over them in a tidal wave.

“Do not defile the Sanctum with your demonic ways, Heretic!” one of the mages yelled.

With a flick of his wrist, Sorin’s demonic serpent hissed at the mage, baring its teeth as a warning. The display was enough to silence the mages; none dared to speak any longer.

Sorin stepped into the chamber. As expected, it was grand, with crystalline walls and thousands of magic gems embedded in its ceilings.

At the center lay a round table with twelve seats, all occupied by the council leaders.

To Sorin’s surprise, none of them dared to attack him the moment he entered. It seemed their desperation was genuine.

“And so we meet again,” Sorin greeted with a soft drawl, politely bowing towards the council leaders.

Neve’s grip on him tightened, and she leaned closer to the saint, closing her eyes, clearly unwilling to face any of them. Her heartbeat quickened, and Sorin could easily sense her anger.

The resentment radiating from the archmage was enough to send a shiver down Sorin’s spine.

One of the council leaders, an old man with a long beard, stood from his seat. His stance was calm, considering the circumstances of his tower’s massacre.

“Saint, why did you attack The Sanctum?” he asked, his tone steady and demanding. “Do you not comprehend the consequences of this? The Empire will—”

“I understand it very well, mage,” Sorin cut him off. “If they come for me, then I’ll simply kill them all.”

His smile bore the promise of something predatory and his eyes gleamed with excitement and cruelty. A palpable tension settled in the chamber, the air heavy with fear.

“—And this Sanctum is nothing more than a haven for you greedy bastards,” Sorin snarled. “Never satisfied, always craving more and more and more... not even caring what happens to anyone beyond yourselves.”

Neve trembled in Sorin’s arms, her grip tightening even further. For a brief moment, Sorin’s gaze softened as he looked

at her.

“You hypocrites! You monsters!” A council leader spat out at him, a woman draped in a regal red cloak.

Sorin rolled his eyes at the insult. “Monsters? Aren’t you the ones who inflicted pain and suffering on the archmage and your own subjects?”

“You subjected her to torment, forcing all your mindless ambitions upon her. You abandoned most of your mages to die.” His sneer held a mocking edge, his presence dominating the room.

He paused, noticing Neve’s soft sobs against him. She reached out to touch Sorin’s cheek, her pale hands scarred and bruised. “S-Sorin...” she whispered.

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of Sorin’s lips as he brushed a stray hair away from her face. “Yes?”

“Y-You promised me...”

“I promised you what?”

Neve’s silver eyes locked with his, and Sorin felt it all. The poison of resentment and malice running through her veins—it was intoxicating.

Sorin wanted more.

But he wasn’t as greedy as these old fools.

Then Neve screamed, her voice raw. “YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED THAT YOU’D KILL THEM, DESTROY THEM! BURN THEM ALL!”

Sorin’s smile broadened, a macabre expression. He was more than eager to fulfill her request.