Tishara just stood there, the overwhelming power of the dead stagnant as if it were still.

The sudden occurrence made the eyes of the Dead High Priest in a state of madness widen in disbelief:

"How, how is it possible! My power... The witch's favor, how can it be a little girl who has not dried up... Impossible, impossible, impossible! ”

The High Priest of the Dead Word grinned and trembled:

"But this little girl alone can't stop the witch from pampering me! I—I'm the one chosen by the witch! Simon, who blasphemed the witch, must die here today. ”

Listening to the words of the High Priest of the Dead, Simon was somewhat speechless.

Maybe it's a neurosis.

He had already told him that the person in front of him was Tishala, but the high priest still looked out of his mind.

However, compared to Simon's thoughts, Tishara frowned and spoke in a tone of disgust:

"I don't remember pampering someone like you..."

"No, no, don't insult my faith in the witch anymore!"

Before Tishara could finish speaking, the High Priest of the Dead Whisper in front of her had already interrupted her.

His expression distorted, his fingers tugging at his face hard, and sharp and resentful words leaked out of his mouth:

"Damn, shit, shit, shit, shit! I don't know what tricks you're using to restrain my power, little girl, but I'm going to kill you! I'm going to give your soul to the witch! ”

"......" Ti Sarah.

"I'm a witch..."

Tishala's mouth moved.

Then it was interrupted again.

"Shut up! You blasphemer pretending to be a witch! ”

"......" Ti Sarah.

Tishara gradually became expressionless.

"My faith in the witch and my love for the witch will never be lost to your little tricks."

He leaned back in an exaggerated way as he stretched his bony fingers at Simon and Tisa.

"Go ahead! The witch-sama's favor! The power of the dead word..."

Smack!

The sound of frantic distortion came to an abrupt end.

The corpse of the High Priestess of the Dead fell to the ground with a heavy clamour, and brain matter flowed everywhere.

His head was beautifully cut in half by the power of the dead voice.

“... I hate people who always interrupt me... Except Simon. Tishara withdrew her fingers, frowning.

At this time, Sen Ran's twisted purple and black air currents obediently lingered around her fingertips.

It was the power of the High Priest of the Dead Word, which belonged to the Dead Word.

Tishala, the witch of the eternal night, is a witch who wields countless powers in ancient legends.

The power of the Dead Word was just a small branch of the power she had wielded in the first place.

As the true master of the power of the Dead Word, it is only natural to control what belongs to her.

"Tisara, you must have forgotten our plan, have you?" Simon's emotionless voice sounded behind him.

"Use the power of the Dead Word to control the corpse of the High Priest of the Dead Language, and use the witch believers of the Dead Language faction to obtain information about the other four priests."

Seeing that Tishara in front of him did not speak, Simon added.

"Of course I remember the plan." Tishala's big black eyes rolled and she stretched out a finger: "But Simon, you also need to know that plans always can't keep up with changes." And this is when the plan should be changed. ”

Looking at Tishara's unorthodox and strong expression, Simon just asked rhetorically, "Do you want to get by?" ”

"Yes!" Tishara nodded vigorously.

She admitted it without hesitation and happily, obviously knowing that she couldn't hide it from Simon.

Call...

Simon let out a breath, he glanced at Tishara and didn't say anything excessive.

After all, it had already happened, and there was no point in blaming the witch.

Staring at the corpse of the High Priest of the Dead on the ground, Simon pondered for a moment and said:

"Give me the power of the Dead Word, Tisara."

"Huh? Do you like this kind of power that can't be put on the table? I don't care, though. ”

Tishara gave Simon a strange look.

But she didn't hesitate, with a flick of her snow-white fingers, the purple-black power of death was completely submerged in Simon's body.

For a moment, Simon only felt that something was going on in his head.

The world has become completely different in front of me.

Simon reached forward.

Like a purple-black flame, the power of death leaps in the palm of his hand.

Tishala's voice of explanation rang in her ears:

"Power does not belong to the category of 'martial arts' and 'divine arts'. It also doesn't need to be practiced, just as humans need the instinct to eat. ”

"Power is similar to instinct. When you want to activate it, it will naturally follow your heart. ”

But—

"Sure enough, the power of 'Dead Words' is so disgusting, I don't want this power at all."

Tishara pouted.

"Compared to that," Simon turned his head to look around and whispered, "It's coming." ”

The moment the words fell.

The shadows in the four corners of the study creep gradually.

Witch believers in rough black and red robes crawled out of the shadows.

They looked up stiffly and mechanically, and then saw the corpse lying in the study.

It was the corpse of the High Priest of the Dead Word.

The witch believers were stunned in unison, and then they neatly turned their heads to look at Simon.

That cold and resentful gaze can be felt even through the hood Simon.

Simon had wanted to take a look at Tishara beside him.

As a result, when he turned his head sideways, he found that Ti Sara had disappeared for a long time.

Hey, there's still no way?

Simon let out a sigh of relief.

The next second-

Simon's originally calm expression became distorted and crazy, and at the same time, the cruel and tyrannical voice squeezed out of his throat:

"Ahhh The witch-sama's favor! I feel the witch's favor! ”

The power of the dead word unconsciously twisted and climbed out from all around.

This sudden situation stunned the witch believers who were about to do it.

Why Simon the Blasphemer ... Will there be the power of the High Priest of the Dead?

Could it be...?

"That's right!" Simon tugged at his face, his already distorted face even more distorted.

Demonic laughter... No, it was laughter that was even crazier than the devil that leaked rampantly from Simon's mouth:

"The flesh of Simon the Blasphemer is already in my grasp! Yes... Feel it! This flesh is full of the fragrance of sinners! This is the best sacrifice for the witch! For the old cult of witches! ”

Spit fluttering, eyeballs bulging, Simon's originally handsome face looked like a madman.

The next moment-

All the manifestations of fanaticism and madness subsided, Simon looked at the believers around him with a cold face, and his tone was cold:

"Celebrate."

This contrasting image made the witch believers around them tremble and take a few steps back.

Smack!

The head of one of the witch believers was severed by the power of the Dead Word, and the corpse fell to the ground.

At the same time, Simon's cold and cruel voice was extremely cruel:

"I let you celebrate. Sing the name of the witch! Sing the name of the High Priest of My Dead Words! ”

Bloody, brutal, ruthless, insane...

Feeling Simon's gaze, the witch believers glanced at each other, and then applauded Simon in the center of the study.

Bang Bang Bang!

They looked at Simon feverishly and applauded vigorously and madly.

There's no doubt about it... It was their high priest.

High Priest of the Dead!