Lin An ignored the mockery of the mad witch.
He was simply staring at his own hands, feeling the rhythm that his fingers danced to—the rhythm inexplicably carried the aura of witchcraft's spiritual energy and seemed to resemble the aura of the Witch-hunting Knight's Breathing Skill Furnace.
Chen Xinmi suddenly turned her head, looking at Lin An with confusion, "What are you doing?"
Lin An didn't speak.
But his hands were gradually becoming luminous.
Lines like veins emerged on his pale hands, pulsating with a red light, not the red of blood vessels, but the orange-red of molten steel.
In the dark laboratory, they were dazzling.
Lin An's head, hanging lifelessly in the bathtub, gently turned to face Chen Xinmi, "The song you hummed while casting the spell just now, could you hum it again? I feel I didn't hear it clearly."
