A sword was drawn.
In the air.
Only three trails of bloody cold light remained!
It seemed as if every strike from Nathanael Warm carried an overwhelming hatred!
Not his own hatred!
But that of those spirits who once died under his sword!
Indignation, rage!
The blood light, like the Devil itself.
Carried an overwhelming pressure as it splattered towards Julius Reed!
Clang!
Julius stood firm as a rock.
Facing the bloody radiance, he gripped his sword with both hands.
Sweeping across the six directions!
The golden light collided with the bloody light, causing the air itself to seem twisted.
The rooftop reeked of blood.
"This sword is full of murderous intent."
Julius, holding the Longsword of the Great Cyclone Night in one hand, spoke lightly.
"There are eighty-one souls under this blade."
