“Someone managed to skillfully manipulate a Glacier Troll? And you’re suspecting it was the work of the [Foreordained]…?”
In a secluded mansion on the outskirts, not far from the capital.
The place, often used as a clandestine meeting spot for dissenters, was shrouded in an eerie silence. An elderly priest, his intense green eyes piercing the empty air, stood there, lost in contemplation.
He was none other than [The Sower].
After receiving this pitiable dark sect priest from Romaine, he’d been putting him to efficient use as a contract-bound servant for his own purposes ever since. This being was [Pestilence], the Demon Lord.
“It seems taking control over the northern region might prove to be more difficult than expected…”
Having finished his communication with a subordinate, he muttered to himself as he returned to the parlor.
When he carelessly plopped onto an old sofa, a cloud of stinging dust rose into the air.
“…Did the [Foreordained] interfere this time as well?”
[Greed], who had been waiting in the parlor, asked. She appeared as a young girl with her hair in loose braids, just as always.
“Yes, it seems that way. I honestly can’t figure it out. I can’t fathom what its real objective might be.”
“Isn’t it obvious? It moves with the sole purpose of achieving Delcross’s ultimate destruction.”
“Is that…