The silence that followed Morgana's comment was devastating.
The witches, who until then had been oscillating between curiosity, suspicion, and a touch of collective hysteria, now stared at Vergil as if they were facing an eclipse... or a natural disaster about to happen.
"Is he the... new Demon King?" one of them whispered in a faint voice.
"That's impossible..."
"My God... he's too hot to be real..."
THUD!
Two witches fell flat on the floor. They fainted in sheer panic, their eyes rolling back, their magic flickering like candles in the wind.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Four others hit the ground for a completely different reason—their legs shaking, their faces flushed, and their breaths labored. The wet, embarrassing sound of their soaked panties accompanied their collective collapse.
"I... I need water," one of them murmured, falling to her knees with her hands over her face.
