When Victor, dressed in a black trench coat, appeared in the church, all the nobles present stared at him in astonishment.

It was as if the man in the distance was someone who could never exist in their lives.

Looking at the figure before him, the nobleman who had drawn his longsword from his waist first stood there dumbfounded.

Ah, who is it?

What did he just say?

The church was deathly silent; none of the nobles dared to utter a sound. It was so quiet that even the sound of a feather falling to the ground seemed to echo.

Bright sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting dappled light and shadow on the golden floor, adding an eerie touch to the tranquil atmosphere.

Immediately afterwards, a nobleman in the crowd began to mutter in a low voice:

"Victor... Clavner?"

The name is like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples.

Immediately afterwards, the golden church was filled with a sudden, faint noise, as if locusts were swarming through it.

The questions and exclamations of everyone blended into a cacophony that even seemed to cause the surrounding candlelight to flicker.

"Victor!?"

"He said he was Victor?"

"Huh? Wasn't Viktor supposed to be dead? Could he have been resurrected?"

Panic, fear, doubt, and shock spread through the crowd in an instant.

After all, Viktor's name was already a thing of the past for them.

And now, Viktor has actually reappeared in front of them?

This, this is impossible!

The nobles immediately rejected the idea.

The idea of ​​someone dying and coming back to life is far too shocking to their worldview.

Especially the nobleman who was the first to draw his sword, who, in shock, turned his sword from Priscilla to Victor.

Despite his aggressive behavior, his timid body betrayed his inner fear.

His trembling eyes were fixed on the man in the black trench coat in front of him, even though the man looked so much like Victor from before.

His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and his hand gripping the sword hilt was also covered in sweat.

"You...you really are Victor? How can you prove it!"

The nobleman's voice trembled.

But before he could finish speaking, a sharp gust of air instantly broke through the air.

Whoosh!

With a whooshing sound, an invisible, sharp, curved blade flashed across the edge of his face.

Almost unnoticed, a cut appeared on his face.

Blood flowed from his face, the warm touch brushing against the nobleman's skin.

The nobleman reached out and touched his face, feeling the warm blood.

When he saw the bloodstains on his fingers, his horror was palpable.

The bloodstain on his face became increasingly clear.

What just happened?

Magic? No chanting, no magic circle?

Instant release?

Thinking of this, the nobleman's heart inexplicably tightened.

His already trembling body became even weaker at this moment.

My heart pounded with fear, and my breathing became increasingly rapid.

He frantically searched his mind for that person's image.

The only mage in the entire world with such power.

final.

His gaze once again settled on the man in front of him.

The other party maintained that elegant and calm demeanor, with no superfluous expression on their cold face.

That iconic black trench coat seemed even more elegant in the breeze.

The man, however, kept his hands in his pockets, appearing calm and unhurried.

Arrogant.

Every aspect of his demeanor exuded an undeniable arrogance towards the surrounding nobles.

Just like that man from the empire ten years ago, who displayed an attitude of utter disregard for all the nobles.

He now possesses the same confidence.

"Is this the proof you wanted?"

This moment is just like that moment back then.

At this moment, all the nobles present couldn't help but feel a sense of panic.

They seemed to have heavy stones pressing on their shoulders, their hair stood on end, and their clothes were soaked with sweat.

They knew that this intense sense of oppression did not come from any specific action by the man.

Rather, it was the fear that came from the depths of their memories.

Even after ten years, the monk who had cast such a deep shadow over them remained.

His existence still leaves an indelible mark on their hearts.

And now.

They turned their heads, trembling, almost as if to confirm the last glimmer of hope in their hearts, and cast their gaze in the direction where Lia was.

Neither Bishop Michaela nor Lia showed any surprise in the face of this man who had been dead for ten years.

It was as if everything was going according to their expectations.

As for the Marquis of Sancher, he was deep in thought, his fingers lightly stroking his chin, seemingly pondering something profound.

It seems that the Marquis of Sancher was completely unaware of this as well.

But now things have become tricky.

Upon seeing Liya's reaction, every nobleman realized that something was wrong.

Oh no, they've fallen into a trap!

It wasn't that they truly believed the man in front of them was Victor, but rather that they were afraid to take the gamble.

No one dared to gamble whether the man in front of them was truly Victor.

Because if they lose the gamble, the consequences will be far more serious than just losing their lives.

Why were these nobles not afraid of the tiger-men beside Priscilla who had once beaten them?

Because they have the resources, and they have a large number of people with them.

These nobles were very confident that if they were to fight again, the tiger-man would definitely be no match for them.

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