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This was the first time Heine felt what "pure rage" was.
It was rooted in solid truth and grew wildly yet unswervingly upward.
It wasn't about venting but about asserting justice.
It was a reliable strength accumulated in the ordinariness of everyday life.
Not a hollow flame obtained by burning reason in an instant.
The rage that Quercus had been accumulating for who knows how many years was now like a grand symphony.
Even the air resonated with it.
The ground shook, and the walls trembled.
The black Spirit Ash that made up the walls crumbled in succession, adhering to its body under the pull of this rage, as if dressing the giant tree in a layer of thick armor.
However, surprisingly, such a powerful being was unable to resolve its opponent cleanly and decisively.
The swiftly galloping knight was like a nimble butterfly, fluttering around its complex branches back and forth.
