If someone told Cecilia that a single man could fight with three holy knights simultaneously and have the winning hand, she would never have believed it. At least, that's how it has been up to now. The man in front of her, however, was doing just that.
Desmond stood tall with relentless momentum, his back looking as wide and imposing as a mountain and his shoulders looking as if they could carry the world's weight. His night-black hair fluttered chaotically in contrast to the white armor he was wearing.
As deep and blue as the ocean, those eyes looked mercilessly at his enemies. The six rivers in the axis of his sword were mixing and churning violently; even steel would be crushed if caught in the pull of more than one river.
Archibald and the other knights could feel Desmond's confidence almost palpable. He couldn't be blamed; Desmond had been toying with them, planning their every move from the start.
