None of Noah's creatures responded to Noah's ritual, not in the way Mark and the others had.
One might ask themselves, 'Who would a devil pray to?'
Noah didn't care. The chest laid out in front of him had to be special, the contents within it had to be better than anything he had ever received, even better than the dungeon core.
His expression appeared more serious than when he fought the Seraphim, his aura radiated a sense of unease, making those like Mark and the others unable to fully appreciate the outcome of not losing their friend.
Noah's hands trembled as they reached for the chest. The chest was exquisite, one of the most mythical objects he had ever seen. Runes were etched throughout its foundation, runes that emitted such divine energy that it reminded him of the ruins that protected his soul.
When he went to open it, his face grew pensive, and veins across his exposed skin bulged as he exerted himself to open the chest, but the chest did not budge.
