*SHIIIIIIING*
The golden blade sang a song of death each time the blond-haired prince swung the enormous sword, sending the fragments of dissected werewolves.
It was quite a sight to witness, honestly – the young boy wasn't particularly fast with the giant sword bigger than himself, but there was this odd certainty about his moves.
They all were calculated, none relied on a lucky strike or anything like that.
And none of them missed.
Roan's Greed technique was something he had to create himself – his ridiculously low luck stat of 13 that did not grow no matter how many levels did he gained since the first kill party forced him to develop it.
If something could go wrong for him – it would go wrong, and that was the truth especially during fights.
