I needed to be cautious moving forward.
I couldn't allow myself to be killed by a Chosen—not even once.
Even with the graveyard, even with the resurrection system, death at their hands might cost me everything.
My innate skills weren't something I could risk. Not now, not ever.
I let out a slow breath, the tension leaving me in a hiss.
Then my eyes swept across the battlefield.
The ground was torn apart, craters and fissures running like scars across the earth. Smoke still curled in faint wisps from the places where my [Inferno Lance] had burned through, and in the distance, broken fragments of blood-mist clung stubbornly to the air before dissolving.
The battle was over, but the taste it left in my mouth wasn't victory. It was dissatisfaction.
I hated that I hadn't been there when my goblins needed me most, that they had to face something like Amon without me watching their backs.
The thought of it gnawed at me.
And worse still, this wasn't the first time.
