If the old Mexicans were given a chance to vote in the future, whether they would want to be Texans or remain Mexicans, they probably wouldn't hesitate.
But for now, it's hard to say; early resistance is certain.
The caravan slowly traversed the country dirt road, the re-transformed Losa resting his head on Prajna's soft, cool thighs, his brows furrowed as he endured the tearing pain inside.
Archbishop Michael's Obsidian Sword, although it didn't cause any flesh wounds, the aggressively invasive Holy Light continued to rampage inside him.
"Can you still hold on?"
Losa opened his eyes, looking at Prajna, flawless even from the "death perspective", he couldn't help but chuckle, "It's not much of a problem; just go back to Wolf Castle and have Nia treat me, it'll be fine."
After speaking, he couldn't help but sigh lightly, "Just this little bit of Holy Light scorching, compared to what Jeanne endures every time, still has a long way to go."
