The Bishop turned his head to look at the silver mirror hanging on the wall. Reflected in the mirror was his grotesque face.
No lips, no teeth, the entire lower half of his face as if smoothed out by some force, leaving only smooth skin.
Upon hearing, hearing that even the Pope couldn't undo it.
Hands frantically groping at his mouth, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness.
No mouth—forget not being able to speak.
But how would he eat or drink?
Even if the Pope could dispel this ability, by the time he reached the Holy Hall, he'd have died of hunger and thirst.
Meanwhile, the previously indignant priests and Protective Church Knights standing by the Bishop began avoiding his gaze.
It seemed they had all forgotten who they were dealing with.
A hero!
The youngest of the Human Race, a hero brave enough to defy the entire Holy Court.
Why had they thought to provoke him just moments ago?
The local Bishop's eyes darted to Nasir, silently begging for help.
