Her usual kind and forgiving demeanor was gone. Those who had underestimated her based on her calm and tolerant exterior had made a grave mistake.
Envy was an ancient witch, her spirit hardened by countless wars throughout human history. For her, war, slaughter, and massacre were once unremarkable constants. Her kindness and patience were not signs of weakness but deliberate choices—a fragile tether to the humanity she feared losing entirely if she didn't restrain herself.
The merciless slaughter continued until the last of the mages who had arrived with the man in the owl mask fell. Blood spilled across her body, but Envy frowned as she noticed something peculiar—the blood wasn't human. It was homunculus blood, and it had an unsettling quality, as though something unnatural had been mixed into it.
