Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

Having lost their commander, this Khornate force chose to retreat. Their Great Demon commander had died in the champion duel, and the opposing champion appeared extremely powerful—his weapon looked somewhat familiar as well. Under multiple factors, these guys ultimately made the rare decision to retreat—not fleeing, but orderly disengaging from contact.

Of course, those Chaotic Believers and corrupted vessels of pitiful souls were abandoned. The Thainan army stepped out from the protection of the city walls and began to deal with these discarded cannon fodder.

Malin didn’t waste his kindness, since whether it was the believers or the pitiful mortals, their minds had already been polluted by Chaos. The probability of saving them?

There was no probability at all.

Ails was holding the Great Demon’s head, trying to extract the pitiful soul trapped inside. The eyes of the severed head were still able to roll—the soul had been imprisoned by Ails within the head, condemned to a state of truly unable to live yet unable to die.

The Sage’s disciple walked over at this moment, scrutinizing Malin as if to determine whether the figure in front of him was human or a monster. Ultimately, he abandoned his probing gaze in favor of focusing his attention on Ails.

Meanwhile, a bald man approached: "This lich... Sir Malin, are you acquainted with it?"

"Known him for years. I usually invite him over whenever I’m hunting Great Demons," Malin said, then glanced at the bald man and his metal staff: "Are you a Martial Monk?"

"Indeed, sir. We have somewhat tense relations with the undead," the Martial Monk replied unreservedly.