A few seconds later, the soul-searing light began to slowly diminish and contract.
At the original spot, the nauseating eyeball monster had completely vanished, leaving no residue, no stain, as if it had never existed in this world.
Only the area that had been scorched by the Holy Flame sphere showed a strange, slightly glassy smoothness, as if it had been instantly melted by high temperatures and then cooled.
The air no longer carried the stench and mental pollution, replaced by a peculiar, fresh, pure scent akin to the world after a torrential rain, the sun illuminating the land, even carrying a faint, warm fragrance.
The dead silence of this place had been broken; though still desolate, it no longer felt oppressive, instead filled with a holy tranquility.
The Duke stood with his sword, the three-meter tall dark form of the Dark Race cast a long, majestic shadow amidst the fading judgment twilight.
