"Roland!"
Witnessing the scene, Dalko could no longer contain himself. Completely forgetting everyone else in the room—even King Morne—he shot forward.
He frantically pawed at the scattered wood chips and debris, his voice filled with an unprecedented panic.
"Roland! How are you? Answer me!"
Just as Dalko's heart was burning with anxiety, a blood-stained hand suddenly reached out from the wreckage.
The hand pushed down hard, and with the sound of rustling wood chips, a heavily panting figure struggled to climb out.
"Cough, cough..."
Roland coughed up several mouthfuls of dark blood, then let out a long sigh of relief.
Seeing the reddened rims of the young nobleman's eyes, he forced the corners of his mouth into a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry... Dalko... I'm not going to die..."
"But you're..."
Dalko's voice trembled as his gaze fell upon Roland.
His friend's appearance was truly horrifying.
