Then, he slowly awoke.

As Steven's vision gradually cleared, he could immediately see the Angel quietly lying on the grass at that moment.

The grass was soft and verdant, and the Angel lay there silently, with a peaceful and serene expression, as if emanating a kind of tranquility and sanctity.

And next to the Angel...

Before he could see clearly who was beside the Angel, he heard a loud shout.

"Who!!?"

!!!

In that instant, Steven felt as though countless ghosts were shrieking in his ears!

Without any preparation or resistance, his eyes rolled back, and he immediately fainted.

"Ugh—"

This time, Steven's injury was more severe!

The wound was not on his physical body but entirely on his soul.

He nearly really left...

"Hmm?"

Already feeling guilty, Fremay was startled, reacting somewhat excessively upon hearing the commotion.

She turned to look at the unconscious Steven and breathed a sigh of relief after confirming he was still breathing.

"Phew... scared me half to death!"

Fortunately, she didn't use her full strength, or Steven would undoubtedly be dead this time.

The title of "Death's Howl" is not given lightly.

And after the awkward moment, she couldn't help but laugh as she looked at the poor fellow who fainted again, helplessly saying:

"Seriously, why did this guy faint again?"

.

.

In that thick mist, numerous silhouettes were faintly visible.

They were Heroic Spirits.

The mist, like a heavy curtain, half-concealed the figures of the Heroic Spirits.

These Heroic Spirits stood quietly in place, some standing like statues, completely motionless, while some were half-kneeling, their posture frozen in a certain moment.

The appearance of the Heroic Spirits was quite tragic, with most of their bodies incomplete.

Some had lost arms, leaving empty stumps, while others had damaged legs, barely standing in a precarious stance.

Others bore enormous wounds on their bodies, the wounds seemingly emitting a faint ghostly light now and then.

They appeared very weak, their formerly powerful bodies like candles flickering in the wind, weak enough to vanish at any moment.

Their eyes also showed fatigue and helplessness, their former bravery and glory seemingly buried under this weak state, leaving only a deathly silence.

They made no movements at all, as if already dead.

The surrounding silence seemed like a silent mourning, and the mist like a gray curtain drawn in their "passing."

This quiet continued for an unknown length of time... until someone broke the silence.

Countless Heroic Spirits lifted their heads at that moment.

They sensed that yet another Heroic Spirit had awakened!

And surely an extremely powerful Heroic Spirit!

No.

This newly awakened being might not be just a simple Heroic Spirit.

A Holy Spirit?

Or perhaps an Angel?

With curiosity, they turned their gaze in the direction of the Awakener.

And then, they saw.

In the thick mist, tangible yet ethereal, an extraordinary and awe-inspiring figure slowly moved forward.

It was an angel with crimson wings.

Each flap of his wings stirred a faint airflow, causing slight ripples in the mist.

The feathers on the wings appeared as if soaked in blood, a striking red with a hint of mysterious aura.

The Angel's face was indistinct, yet one could sense a handsome and stern demeanor, with eyes shining with sacred and resolute light.

He wore a white robe exuding a gentle glow, the robe gently fluttering in the wind.

He was mounted on a Centaur Heroic Spirit clad in battle armor.

A Legendary Level Centaur!

The battle armor was of a somber metallic color, adorned with ancient runes and battle scars, telling of past glory and warfare.

The Centaur Heroic Spirit radiated heroic spirit, its horse body with snow-white fur, wielding a glistening cold spear, vigilant eyes scanning all surroundings.

They thus trod step by step in the mist, every step like striking a mysterious chord.

Their footfalls composed a silent symphony, as if heading towards an unknown yet purpose-filled destination.

Their appearance was like casting a giant stone into a calm lake, instantly shattering the tranquility of the Spirit Realm.

Those Heroic Spirits, half-hidden within the misty mountains, all turned their gazes toward them.

Heroic Spirits began to subtly change.

Some emitted a ghostly blue light, like cold flames dancing, while others became more ethereal, as if on the verge of dissolving into the mist.

The Heroic Spirits began to whisper among themselves.

Their whispers echoed in the mist, like countless tiny insects buzzing in one's ear.

The ethereal voices seemed to come from a distant place, airy yet vague.

Some of the Heroic Spirits were filled with curiosity, their eyes sparkling with excitement, gathering together to guess the origin of this pair.

They discussed the identity of the newly awakened Angel, wondering what change he might bring to this mist?

Could it be a portent of some significant change to come?

"!!!"

But suddenly, some of the Heroic Spirits' whispers vanished.

Fear shone in their eyes, their bodies shrinking as if they had seen some extremely terrifying presence.

The fear spread like an icy tide in their eyes, and they lowered their voices, afraid of drawing the attention of the Angel and Centaur.

Amid growing emotions of fear and curiosity, it quickly spread through the mist.

They saw.

Behind the Angel and the battle horse was a vast shadow.

And within that shadow, which seemed to devour everything, they sensed a terror that made their souls tremble!

An unknown, god-like fear.

"Who... is he?"

From deeper within the mist, such a whisper was heard.

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