"They got away,"
Mart thought.
"Kill them, punish them so they understand the power of your Wrath."
Mart knew it well: that voice inciting his fury was none other than the voice of "Satan of Wrath."
He knew this because of one of the lucid dreams he'd had in the past after reading the book titled *Demonic Hearts*.
The voice inciting Mart was growing weaker and weaker.
In the same way, the impulse Mart had felt when he let himself be carried away by the defining trait of Wrath was waning.
But still, there was wrath within him.
A wrath that gradually mingled with his lucidity.
"Do you want to lose what you love?"
"If not, kill—wipe out those who dare to provoke your anger."
"Punish them…"
In Mart's eyes, still the color of fiery orange, the troops of the Barantrense army of the Republic of Argariz were reflected.
To Mart's eyes at that moment, those demons looked no bigger than ants.
But in the eyes of those demons, the Marquis seemed like a nightmare—or worse.
