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... the universe for forging materials for him.

This matter had nothing to do with Roy, but after being reminded by Sargeras, he started thinking about his weapon.

After Frostmourne was damaged, Roy had handed it over to Diathorus for repair. With the abilities of these nathrezim, Frostmourne would inevitably flow into the Shadowlands for repair. It didn’t matter where it was repaired. In fact, if he were willing, he could naturally use a large number of souls to restore Frostmourne ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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