Roland snapped his head up, his pupils contracting violently from excruciating pain and shock.
Less than ten steps in front of him, Van Buren stood, completely unharmed.
His bright silver Armor still shimmered with a cold light, without a single scratch. His brilliant gold hair fell over his shoulders, not a strand out of place.
He hadn't even moved. His stance was identical to how it had been at the start of the battle.
It was as if the brutal scene of Roland cutting off his head and forcing him to his knees had never happened.
In his scarlet eyes, the previous cold, judgmental feeling had faded. In its place was a complex expression, a mixture of inquiry and something indescribable. And even…
A trace of lingering fear?
The Paladin looked at Roland's wretched and pained state and slowly lowered his pulsating palms.
"A magnificent sight, Mr. Roland."
Van Buren's voice was no longer as calm as before, now carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor.
