Ryu slammed both his glaives into the white tiles below his feet. Their blades sliced through like a hot knife through butter, making a mockery of whatever protections there were meant to be.
His hand shot forward, tearing a piece of cloth from Tharon's falling corpse and slowly tying it around the end of one of his glaives.
Ryu looked no different from a savage barbarian, counting his war kills one by one.
His once pristine white hair was covered with a foul mud. His toned torso was exposed to the harsh winds of the mountain top, but it was difficult to see the definition of his muscles hidden beneath those layers of alternating dry and moist grime. Even his face was completely obscured.
If it wasn't for the baggy, ripped pants of a beggar that coated his lower body, he would have no shred of decency left. But considering the state it was in, maybe it wasn't doing a very great job either.
