310. Preparing For Fight Ahead

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A sudden, overwhelming pressure exploded from the throne, sending him hurtling through the air and crashing into one of the tree’s thick branches outside the temple.

"Cough, cough...!!" The High Prophet spat blood but slowly made his way back into the temple. Kneeling once again, he showed no anger or frustration at being injured—only trembling fear in the face of the figure’s fury on the throne.

Sylas’s eyes, glowing with an unnatural light, cut through the darkness as he sat motionless on the throne, his presence suffocating. The High Prophet of Pestilence didn’t dare lift his head. The air around them was thick with the stench of rot and corruption, heavy with a crushing pressure.

“Elandor’s Heir... and the Heir of Astraia,” Sylas muttered, his voice filled with disdain. “How dare she interfere in my plans?”

His words echoed, each one pressing down harder on the High Prophet. Silence followed, broken only by the distant howling wind outside the temple. The elder remai
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