Ethan stood frozen, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. He didn't say a word—but everything the others were whispering, every doubt, every fear… they were exactly what he was thinking.
He'd gambled everything on Ataneya.
And now, all he could do was watch.
Meanwhile, the Dungeon heroes—those who'd been forcibly drained by the Holy Fox Sovereign—were in far worse shape. Their bodies trembled uncontrollably, skin pale and sunken, like their very life force had been ripped out of them.
Unlike Ethan and his allies, who had willingly offered their power, these poor souls had been violently harvested—no care, no restraint, no mercy.
And that difference… it showed.
The gap between Ataneya and the Holy Fox Sovereign was still painfully clear.
"You still think you can win?" the Sovereign sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "I'll admit, your bloodline power is… impressive. Maybe even a little stronger than mine."
He stepped forward, eyes glowing with cruel delight.
