In the shadows a short distance from the marsh, two figures held their breath, their gazes fixed on Roland's every move on the cliff face.
Witch Vanessa was leaning against a twisted tree.
Her long purple hair remained perfectly still in the damp breeze, her deep eyes reflecting the fiery light of the distant, continuous explosions.
Her expression was indifferent, as if she were not watching a life-and-death struggle, but rather an amusing experimental demonstration.
When Roland conjured a fireball at his fingertips, Vanessa's delicate eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Heh..."
Her cool voice, tinged with a faint trace of mockery, sounded beside Mason's ear.
"These Chaos Creatures from the Outer Planes have a rather high resistance to Flame, so..."
She tilted her head slightly, her purple eyes—which seemed capable of piercing the thick fog—locking precisely onto Roland's figure on the cliff.
"What will you do now, Mr. Roland?"
