Like a punishment suddenly descending, he came so absurdly, no matter what you asked, he remained silent, only giving you his judgment coldly.
"You've already called me a lunatic; does a lunatic need a reason for anything he does?"
Bologue climbed up from the puddle in embarrassment, staggering as he walked. He was at his limit, the Ether was burnt out, and the Soul Shards had released their glow; his whole body felt as if carrying a thousand pounds, each step was so difficult.
Now he felt like a piece of firewood, constantly burning, constantly burning, and when he was about to go out, he fiercely reignited those few sparks, like hypnotizing himself: You can still burn for a while...
Fighting across levels was harder than Bologue imagined, or maybe he had killed too many people tonight. He started fighting from the midnight bell and kept chopping until near dawn; he had sliced his way from the east route of Opus to the west route, deserving the title Opus Chop King.
