After watching his silhouette disappear among the clouds, the mortals kneeling on the ground quickly bowed in farewell, their faces a mask of reverence. At this moment, they were overcome with gratitude.
Regardless of his identity, the fact that he had stepped in to protect them—mere mortals—when danger loomed was more than enough. In the hearts of these common people, he was a god, their guardian deity.
'It's just, this god doesn't seem to like it when we mortals call him that. But that's all right. Even ordinary people have their own quirks, so what's so strange about a god having his own preferences?'
Even if he wasn't a Celestial God descended from the heavens, he was still the Princely Heir of their nation, Kelldorn. This Young Master had said it himself—he was a Demon Cultivator, the Young Master of the Demonic Sects.
And so, at this moment, the crowd bid him farewell in unison.
"We bid you farewell, Young Master."
"Please protect us, Young Master of the Demonic Sects."
