"Hold on! Stop it!...Emilia!" He yelled out.
He only had one more glance at the amber-haired woman as he was ushered out of the backdoor of the basement, seeing the clown-faced man give him a small, ominous wave.
Even as he tried his best to resist, it seemed the chains were not only able to nullify magic, but suppressed even his normal strength with a subduing, weakening effect.
I messed up, he thought.
Vainglory walked casually while pulling him along with him, nonchalantly strolling out of the back as an all-black carriage was waiting outside, behind the building.
It had begun raining in the time before he entered, and the time he left. The man sitting at the coach box with the horse-attached ropes in hand was an old man with eerie, black eyes and a smile.
With one look, he knew it was another Belmon cultist that had likely stolen the identity of a normal person.
