"Fireworks?"
Hearing this, a few nearby members of the Blood Race also gathered curiously by the window.
Sure enough, on the distant skyline, patches of flickering light illuminated the pitch-black night sky, and a muffled roar could be faintly heard.
But soon, a few of the more sober members of the Blood Race realized something, and their expressions changed drastically.
"That's not right—that's the direction of the Greystone Rampart!"
"Those aren't fireworks! That's the afterglow of Magic!"
"This is bad! Someone's attacking the rampart!"
"Those Slimes went back on their word! They've broken the agreement!"
These shouts shattered the atmosphere in the banquet hall. The Blood Race, who moments before had been reveling in their victory, turned deathly pale. All traces of their elegant composure vanished, replaced by uncontrollable panic.
Soon, one of the Blood Race received a Magic communication from the front lines.
