Abattre's figure was already menacing; even Lucien felt a chill of terror just looking at him. Everyone else, who had already drawn their swords, shared his fear.
Their bodies trembled, and they couldn't tear their eyes away.
"Don't get discouraged! It's the effect of dark magic! He might not be as strong as he looks!" The old man's voice in Lucien's head was trying to encourage him.
'Might? Can't you calculate its true power?'
"No... It's not that simple, young man. Most dark magic wielders are cunning. They conceal their mana until the last moment."
'Damn... What should I do now? How can you help me?'
Before the old man could respond, Abattre moved. He lifted his hand to the sky and chanted, "Blood Moon Phantasm"
