The first time Henry had felt fear was when he found himself amidst the chaos of the barbarian war, his first day in this world. Now, he tasted fear once more, feeling utterly powerless in front of the mage before him, who managed to block his last attack that overloaded his body.
Henry's conscious was slipping away, the battle cries of his soldiers being drowned by his weak state. However, the old mage's voice pierced through the encroaching darkness, maybe because he was right in front of him or maybe because he was destined to hear his killers voice - "I didn't think that I would be using the Angel's grace here."
"I will make you pay for this… No, your worthless life is not even a cent of how much I have paid for this treasure…for this single Angel's grace" - The old man seethed, his eyes filled in anger - "Yes…I will sell your soul for this, maybe that can fetch some amount."
