To The Lost Grove

Chapter 212: To The Lost Grove

Their muzzles were tense, nostrils flaring as they scented the air, and their clawed hands rested on crude weapons or the earth, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Among them, a few stood out—taller figures draped in tattered robes, their staffs tipped with faintly glowing stones that exuded an eerie, otherworldly energy.

"Fangars..." Dio muttered under his breath, though his expression remained unchanged, his calm demeanor unshaken.

At that moment, one of the Fangars—a visibly taller and bulkier figure standing at the back—grinned maliciously. 

He held a staff in one hand, his black tattered robe fluttering slightly in the breeze. 

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "My hand just slipped. I thought you were a group of primals..."

Though his words were an apology, his tone suggested anything but remorse.