The god of the surface and the king of hell were fighting in a thunderous manner. Compared to them, a very small and insignificant black mouse hid in the rubble of the collapsed castle. 

‘This is for the best right now.’ 

Squeak squeak! Squeak! 

The round eyes of the mouse weren’t shaken as he cleaned his fur that was soaked with blood that poured like torrential rain from the Absolutes. It was proof that he had confidence in his judgment and actions. 

It was natural. An Old Dragon was a being who believed ‘my way is the truth.’ He had polymorphed into the form of a lowly creature, but Bunhelier never doubted himself. He didn’t even feel shame. It was because his very existence was an honor. It didn’t matter what he looked like or what he did. The value of an Old Dragon was immutable, but... 

‘Baal has better defenses than I expected. He is unrivaled when it comes to tricks.’ 

In the process of collaborating with Baal in the past to drive Nevartan insane, Bunhelier was unknowingly cursed by Baal. Not only was he unable to exert his full power in hell, but he was also bound as soon as he became targeted by Baal. He tried his best to resist, but it was useless. Baal had prepared more means and methods. Bunhelier...