Staring at the monster struggling to defend itself against Gale, a trace of doubt appeared on Michael's face.
Against the undead griffin, the monster looked… weak.
It had even resorted to sacrificing its flying minions—creatures that barely accomplished anything—just to absorb Gale's onslaught.
"It seems Gale alone is enough to defeat it… given enough time," Michael muttered, his eyes narrowing.
But then a new thought struck him, making his heart race.
What would happen to the controlled monsters if their master died?
They had no consciousness of their own, only puppets bound to that thing's will.
But if that will disappeared—if there was nothing left to control them—wouldn't they become mindless, motionless husks?
Wouldn't they become easy targets for me to harvest?
The logic was sound. At least, it seemed that way.
Still, doubt lingered.
But Michael didn't let that doubt stop him. He wasn't the type to hesitate once he saw an opportunity.
