C642 I Can't Ask for It

Eight years later, tifli Castle.

Under the night sky, the castle seemed a little eerie, but also a little strange. In the main hall of the castle, a man with disheveled hair was holding a torch and mumbling something to a huge pattern drawn with fresh blood.

A gentle breeze blew past, stirring up a foul smell.

It was like a corpse, but also like something else.

"Blood is a sacrifice