The disparity between effort he exerted and performance shown was as different as night and day.
A simple, seemingly unmotivated, motion was all he needed to leap across the flood of undead eager to devour the living.
While hovering in the air, his eyes were clear. His expression was tranquil. His form refined by continuous training and countless experience. He landed perfectly on his foot to the other side, without triggering a sound.
In the next instant, the demon with a purplish horn on the left-side of his forehead ran toward the spider, and did not hesitate to leave the party to be swarmed by the undead.
Nevertheless, this was not abandonment, but trust. A strong trust they could handle this level of -prank-, and to repay them he would finish this yesterday.
