Following the direction where that indifferent voice reverberated from, Ken turned out to be the source of the voice—his gaze stuck onto the twisting and turning back of the light-armoured woman, who continued to swing her katana, her grip shifting from firm, loose, double handed, left handed, reverse handed, and so on as she maintained an eerie yet continuous flow of swings as per his guidance.
His left grip resting at the end of the sword sheath hung by his waist, ready to unsheathe it at any given moment—his gaze lingering on the thinning red thread connecting them both....
An ominous premonition rung at the back of his head continuously as he faced her small back—.
Once again the kind of feeling he detested to his bones began stir within....
He felt helpless and powerless.
