In just over ten seconds, the two Beyonders locked in combat sensed an observer and instinctively distanced themselves, fixing their gaze on Lumian.
Casually leaning against the alley wall, Lumian chuckled and remarked, "Go on, keep fighting. Don't mind me."
With a heavy dagger in hand, the young native, his left palm slightly open, eyed the black-haired, green-eyed, handsome, golden straw hat-donning Lumian with vigilance.
Who is this?
What is he up to?
The short-haired man, armed with two odd-shaped scalpels, was equally vigilant.
He, too, eyed Lumian and the vigilant young native. Suddenly, he crouched, arms hanging loose, and black, sulfurous smoke enveloped him completely.
Lumian's smile didn't waver; his right eyebrow arched in mild interest.
Unfazed, the young native extended his slightly open left hand, releasing a shadow that expanded into a distorted "black cloud."
