The throne room was deathly quiet. The air seemed to freeze, and even the mist in the room seemed to solidify. William walked down the white jade steps of the throne, ignoring the tense atmosphere. "Did I return too early and disturb your argument?" he asked. "I'm sorry if that's the case. In fact, I really want to hear more secrets from the past. Unfortunately, as long as I'm not in the Mist Soul, I can't control when this mist disappears."
As William approached, Diana, who was standing under the throne, warned, "Halt!" But William kept walking at a steady pace. Suddenly, a blood-red, thorny fence burst out of the ground and blocked him from the puppet. The smell of blood filled the air.
William didn't sense any magical fluctuations.
"So this is a part of the Eighth Holy Spirit's authority? Is it related to blood?"
