Celia had not used the energy in her weapon. She had hacked purely with primal force, which made the scene look particularly bloody.
In the end, the Duke of Glirhuade was chopped to pieces, dead beyond recognition.
Outside, the battle had ended.
The clanging sound of metal footsteps tapping firmly on the floor echoed through the corridor as Lance, clad in an icy Mecha suit, walked in. Seeing the bloody scene within the room, he slightly furrowed his brows.
In the interstellar era, battles were seldom this bloody. Most were hit by weapons and turned to ash.
This illustrated the hatred in Celia's heart.
"Lance, I've succeeded."
Celia stood still, hands propped on her blade, her voice resonating with endless melancholy, void of any joy of success.
"But I don't feel happy at all."
Lance frowned, lifting his hand to gently rest it on Celia's shoulder, saying nothing, just silently standing there.
