"Douglas, how do you intend to treat me?"
Douglas couldn't answer that question. He stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What kind of judgment do you expect for a filthy witch, a disgrace to the White family?" With those words, Douglas left, his face cold.
Outside the Tower of Sacraments, the sunlight was bright, but a gray-black smoke pervaded the southeast. He glanced at it before the Archbishop approached, sighing as he explained, "It's Winchester. He's caused a lot of harm, but he couldn't get in."
The most outstanding mages of the Eastern Holy Land had gathered around the Tower of Sacraments. Despite Winchester's extraordinary talent, he couldn't break through the powerful magical restraints of the church.
Douglas merely uttered a faint "oh." "Was he caught?" he asked, adjusting his collar. For some reason, he felt short of breath, perhaps because his button was too tight.
