The cold wind blew outside the window.
The Witch of Death sat elegantly by the window, with Sharon in her black latex outfit beside her, hands folded in front of her lower abdomen as if she were a personal maid.
Gazing in the direction of the Country of Art, she could clearly see the burning fires.
"Witch of Death, why do you do such things?"
"..."
The Witch of Death didn't respond, her sapphire-like eyes revealed perplexity, and Sharon, seeing this, sighed and asked,
"Why let Ahtal personally take care of the Country of Art's hierarchy?"
Because it was his plan.
The Witch of Death picked up the teacup on the table, gracefully sipped, then coldly asked, "Humans, what do you think my reasons are?"
Sharon thought for a moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth, "Is it to ensure Ahtal has no way back, and can only follow you completely?"
