Hearing the Balance speak so casually, Richard couldn't help but twitch slightly at the corner of his eye.
So if he wasn't the chosen one, he deserved to die, right?
Looking at the Hermit's Robe in the Sand Spirit's hand, it appeared rather plain at first glance, with a grayish hue. However, upon closer inspection, it was actually covered with unimaginably intricate patterns.
These patterns were so dense that they were almost invisible.
Richard could feel that these patterns flowed with the Power of Dimension. This power circulated endlessly, like atmospheric currents.
The Balance did not urge him. It was a Prophet, believing that everything was arranged by Destiny.
"Misfortune, huh. I hope this misfortune isn't too terrible."
Richard took the robe and draped it over himself.
Putting on the robe now was undoubtedly an unwise decision, but if he didn't, the Sand Spirit's ancestors would never have allowed him to take the robe away.
This was a test.
