"God says—"
Phyllis Graham raised her right hand and coldly chanted at Motan's heart position, "When fencing, act swiftly and decisively..."
"Stop!"
Even though Motan knew that the other was just venting and not actually going to kill over a harmless joke, he still raised his hands cooperatively and chuckled, "Though I'm not that Black Vatican Priest's father, your Highness, you're right—we do have some connection."
Phyllis let out a light snort, the nearly material-independent gold coin between her fingers trembled twice, gradually losing its divine glow. The forcibly infused and compressed strength began to flow back, efficiently returning to her body through the Wealth Saintess's fair hand.
