But Anne knew she couldn't fight him. She was just a support cleric—one without a single offensive skill to her name.
So instead of resisting, she dropped to her knees before him, her forehead pressed against the blood-soaked ground.
"Forgive me! Forgive us! I'll do anything, so please... don't kill me!"
She didn't know who the man was or where he had come from, but one thing was clear—he wielded dark mana.
It was so thick, so oppressive, she could see it with her bare eyes, swirling in the air like a living shadow.
The malevolent energy had already swallowed half the village, making it hard to even breathe.
"Oh... you're a smart one," Claude said, a cold smirk stretching across his lips. "But you'll regret asking to live."
Anne's eyes widened in horror as dark tendrils burst from the ground, slithering around her limbs.
The tentacles seized her wrists and ankles, binding her tightly before silencing her with a thick coil that covered her mouth.
