Moca, the village chief, fiercely wiped away a tear, his rough palm leaving a streak on his face.
He raised the staff in his hand, pointed it with all his might at the purple moon in the night sky, and shouted, "Please help us destroy the moon! Lift the curse!"
Before the village chief's words had even finished, the other villagers also joined in, shouting in unison, "Destroy the moon, lift the curse!"
Dozens of demons gathered together, shouting loudly, their voices sounding particularly eerie in the silent night.
Their voices intertwined, like a roar from hell, sending shivers down one's spine.
Ur unconsciously took a step in front of Lyon and the others, her body leaning slightly forward.
Lyon and the others, on the other hand, looked grim. Lyon's eyes widened, and his bright gaze was now filled with confusion and contemplation.
Intelligent as he was, he had roughly figured out the reason behind it all and now looked at this group of villagers with a strange expression.
Yuka, however, was full of disbelief, his mouth wide open as he exclaimed, "Destroy the moon? What kind of joke is that?"
Toby tugged at Ezreal's sleeve and whispered, "Are these people crazy?"
Sherry also looked at the villagers with a serious expression, her hands, at some unknown point, placed behind her back, and a faint pink mist slowly emerged from her palms.
Ezreal turned back with a smile, reassuring them.
Then he looked up at the deep night sky.
It was late at night, and the bright moon hung high.
But the moon hanging in the night sky was an eerie purple.
The purple moonlight shone down on the earth, casting a mysterious and terrifying hue over everything.
"A piece of cake," Ezreal's voice was calm and confident.
He raised his left hand, opened his palm, and a bright white light instantly bloomed in his palm, like a brilliant star, illuminating the surrounding darkness.
Following that, three enormous white circular magic arrays overlapped and opened, with mysterious runes on the magic arrays flashing dazzling light, emitting a powerful and mysterious force.
"Destruction Beam!" Before Ezreal's words had even finished, an incredibly thick white energy beam shot straight into the night sky.
The beam was like a bolt of lightning, tearing through the dark sky.
The white beam carried a dazzling light, and the night sky instantly brightened, as if daylight had arrived.
After the beam flew to a height of nearly a hundred meters, a crisp and loud sound of shattering glass rang out.
There was actually a transparent energy shield in the sky that was shattered by the white beam, and the energy shield, upon contact with the beam, shattered like fragile glass.
After this transparent energy shield was shattered, the fragments turned into nothingness, disappearing into the night sky.
And the originally purple moon also returned to its original pure white at this moment, its soft moonlight once again falling upon the earth.
However, at this moment, the people in the village showed no change.
Moca, the village chief, and all the villagers were eagerly checking their bodies.
But their bodies had not changed; they were still in their demon forms.
"What's going on?" someone shouted anxiously.
"Has the curse not been lifted?" another voice said with despair.
"Haven't turned back into humans?" Questions arose one after another.
The villagers began to whisper, their voices filled with disappointment and confusion.
But within two seconds, these demonized villagers suddenly froze, their expressions becoming blank.
Their eyes lost focus, as if their souls had been extracted.
After a brief moment of stunned silence, the expressions and eyes of these people became complex.
Moca, the village chief, tugged at his white goatee, an expression of sorrow on his purple face.
His eyes revealed deep helplessness and self-reproach.
Ezreal smiled upon seeing this.
He slowly spoke, his voice clear in the silent village: "It seems you've all remembered, haven't you?"
"There's no such thing as a curse; you were all demons to begin with," Ezreal's voice was calm.
After Ezreal finished speaking, the village chief and the others showed no change, still immersed in complex emotions.
But Lyon and the others' faces turned grim, anger and hatred burning in their eyes.
The five of them tensed their bodies, their muscles trembling slightly from tension.
Except for Ur, who remained calm and merely on guard, the other four had expressions of hatred in their eyes.
Lyon spread his hands, and two masses of frosty white cold air slowly condensed into two slender ice swords.
The ice swords emitted a cold aura, as if the surrounding air was frozen.
Holding the two ice swords, Lyon, with a grim expression, led Sherry and the other two forward, their steps heavy and firm.
Ur hesitated for a moment; without magic at this time, she didn't stop them or say anything, only looked at Ezreal.
Her eyes were full of trust; she was certain that since Ezreal had brought them here, there must be a reason for it.
"They haven't harmed anyone," Ezreal turned around, his voice not loud but clearly reaching everyone's ears.
This sentence also made Lyon and the others stop, their movements frozen in place.
Ezreal continued, "They are demons, yes, but after dealing with Deliora, I returned to the village. I have a special magic that allows me to view others' memories."
"I went through each of their memories, and none of them have harmed anyone." Ezreal's gaze swept over the villagers, with no hint of disgust in his eyes, only calmness and understanding.
"They are demons, yes. But they only live self-sufficiently on this island, without disturbing the outside world, and without any intention of harming others." Ezreal's voice drifted on the night wind.
"If you hadn't coincidentally found this island, they might never have been known to anyone." Ezreal sighed slightly.
"Your homes were destroyed and your loved ones taken by a demon." Ezreal looked at Lyon and the others.
"That demon was Deliora, and tonight, he died by your hands."
"Taking out your anger on others, that's not appropriate."
"In this world, there are many reasons to deserve death, but there is no such thing as deserving death because of one's origin." Ezreal's words were like a heavy hammer, striking at the hearts of Lyon and the others.
"Do you agree with that statement?" Ezreal spoke unhurriedly, his calm gaze sweeping over Lyon and the others, awaiting their answer.
The four on the opposite side fell silent, their eyes no longer holding only hatred, but also a measure of thought and struggle.
Ur, who was standing at the back, now walked two steps forward, and she gently patted their shoulders as a gesture of comfort.
Lyon's hands trembled, and the ice swords in his palms dissipated into two masses of cold air.
He looked at Ezreal, his voice carrying a trace of weariness and relief: "Then why did you bring us here? What do you want to do?"
Ezreal smiled slightly when he saw them calm down: "I want to ask you for a favor."
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