Osta Trul had never questioned Ciel's competence in tackling the aquatic monster, yet the ruthless efficiency with which he dispatched it caught him off guard.
It felt much like witnessing an adult landing a blow on a child.
A persistent inquiry bobbed to the surface of Osta's thoughts.
To what path and Sequence could Ciel possibly belong?
Why could he engage in combat and appear to wield formidable prophetic capabilities?
Within a region speckled by dark-crimson and dull-golden symbols, Lumian crouched, brandishing his ceremonial silver dagger. He slid the blade into the monster's open wound, cleaving through its flesh, and deposited it in the hollow timber container prepared earlier.
Once two containers brimmed with the monster's flesh and scales casting a dim cerulean glow, he uncapped a metallic flask and began collecting the monster's blood that burbled ceaselessly.
