"Xiaoxi~"
"Xiaoxi~"
"Fat West!"
In the darkness, a pair of crimson eyes lit up.
Sigmund awoke with his head in his hands, quietly listening, but heard nothing.
"Is this the effect of soul damage?" he murmured.
A week had passed since that annoying roommate was eliminated by the Demon King.
Afterward, the Demon King carefully examined his soul, confirming that what remained was entirely his own soul, without a trace of the alien soul fragments.
The Demon King handled it very well, so well that Sigmund almost felt grateful.
But he did not.
During the soul battle, he lay there, allowing the Demon King's consciousness to probe deep into his soul.
The feeling was like someone splitting open his chest and holding his heart in their hand for inspection.
