"Heehee, come on in, Grimm."
The space around Black Isotta was collapsing ceaselessly. He was cackling sinisterly at Grimm. The cackling echoed throughout the great hall.
Grimm gulped.
"Yes, great Black Isotta."
Clutching his Sabbatic Goat Staff, Grimm was trying his best to slow his pace so that he would appear relaxed. Beneath his Mask of Truth, however, strains of sweat emerged on his forehead.
The collective pressure that came from being under the scrutiny of the six higher life forms made Grimm feel like he was a white mouse on an experimental theatre waiting to be handled. He couldn't put up any resistance.
"Black Isotta, this Level-1 Demon-hunting Sorcerer is your idea of a better solution?"
A question suddenly erupted from a Stigmata Sorcerer that was blurred out in a cloud of sand. She sounded like a sorceress.
Black Isotta who was surrounded by collapsing spaces gently nodded.
"Heehee, you're right, it's him."