Percival was a statue for a long time. A tall, brooding statue.
This wasn't at all who he once was. This violence was alien to the boy named Percy.
He'd never butchered people with such methodical coldness. Only beasts… only Demonspawns.
But was it justified?
To him, it was.
Mercius had suffered from the same type of people who had made him suffer.
The crown had used and disposed of them both. This shared pain, this recognizable suffering, was enough to push him off the edge.
All the suppressed rage he had been carrying finally detonated, unfiltered and raw.
Now, he had committed a massacre, burning through his mana and Attributes for the first time since his regression.
Yet, rather than genuine satisfaction. All he felt was turmoil.
This everlasting struggle between who he was then and now. How much longer until he got over it?
Well, the silver lining was that now, he had secured Mercius Seagrave as his first Soul Soldier.
