“Heh. It seems… a tool used wrong… makes a fine weapon…”
The smug smirk never left Red Mage Fiore DeRosa’s face as he uttered those last words. Even with his dying breath, he remained as poised as ever. Blowing a kiss to his four vanquishers, he fell first to his knees and then to his hands, never again to rise. Tiz crouched beside his body, as did Agnès, his gaze following the large gemstone that rolled out of his pocket. “It’s another one of those asterisk things…” he murmured wonderingly.
Ringabel, however, was not so curious about the source of DeRosa’s abilities. He had already run to the dazed Edea’s side—she had collapsed in the aftermath of the fight—and was now helping her to stand. “Are you all right, Edea?” he asked, his voice filled with uncharacteristic worry.
“I… I’m fine,” she managed. “Thank you for coming to my rescue—all of yo