"Hello, Lorenzo Holmes."
An elegant voice resounded, a pale face emerged from the darkness ahead, and Roger displayed a horrifying smile.
He had changed his appearance again, as if every meeting with Lorenzo rendered him unstable.
"Roger Cruz."
Lorenzo whispered, raising his head, bloodshot eyes staring directly at Roger.
This time, Roger seemed a bit different.
His face was pale, like a corpse, smiling, but the smile was extremely rigid, to be precise, his whole face was plaster-like, indifferent and wooden.
He seemed like an ancient withered tree, aged and decayed, having become this way yet stubbornly refusing to die, instead persisting to live, continuing life's flow amidst the desolation.
Lorenzo recalled the Watchers seated around the Well of Ascension, and Roger Cruz appeared so similar to them.
Then he realized where the problem lay.
"You, along with Adren Levien and those Watchers..."
