"Let me... take her place."
"Become your vessel."
The calm voice echoed in the vast, cold expanse of the Black Iron Hall.
In the instant Shiayar uttered those words.
The shadows, which had lingered in all directions, suddenly thickened greatly.
Increasingly dark and eerie, carrying some kind of unknown, indescribable danger.
Hathaway distinctly saw, at the moment she heard Shiayar's answer.
In the shadow beneath the Black Iron Throne, in that illusory brass-colored pupil, a barely perceptible color flashed by.
Immediately after.
She felt that some lofty, majestic will, with unspeakable taboos, slowly descended within her bloodline.
Boom——
Inside Hathaway's body.
All the crimson gold magic power, which had been gathered and directed by her will, on the brink of collapse and about to erupt completely.
In an instant, it calmed down again.
Like a dead, lifeless lake.
