As Emery had anticipated, the Chimera Sovereign still had a trump card waiting.
A faint, chilling smile spread across the elder's face as he slowly raised both arms. His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping something invisible, before he spoke in a calm yet commanding tone.
"Come… to your master."
At once, three streams of pale light rose from the battlefield.
They drifted upward from the shattered remains of Maldrin, Skylark, and Madam Butcher, coalescing into translucent figures that hovered in the air.
Their spirit souls had been summoned—but something about them was deeply unnatural. Their expressions were blank, devoid of awareness, and across their spectral forms, intricate runic markings pulsed faintly, binding them in place like lifeless puppets.
Emery frowned slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"What is he planning…?"
Before he could act, a shadow rushed toward the elder.
The Phantom Blade.
