As Garen sat cross-legged on the ground, mild black gas dissipated from his whole body. It was like fog spreading throughout his surroundings.
He quietly sensed the ninth head of the eight headed dragon. The blood tumor was growing bigger and redder, as if it was about the explode any minute.
Unconsciously, Windling noticed his unusual behaviour. Without saying a word, he kept his distance.
As this situation had happened multiple times over the journey, he was used to it. It was not just once or twice, but multiple times. It was as if he was examining the state of his body, similar to the masters among commoners.
But it seemed to be different this time.
Windling carefully observed the black smoke surrounding Garen. It smelt good. It was incredibly rich, like fragrance released by burning various spices together. The smell could not be identified, but it was not pungent; a little like incense.
