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Though the man was only about one meter eighty in height, killing intent boiled around him, and his gaze was as sharp as lightning, making the musketeer opposite him feel a chill in his heart; he almost wanted to look away.
Gathering his courage, the musketeer said, "I am..."
"Ada!"
With a strange cry, the musketeer in front of him was hit right on the bridge of his nose, his features instantly twisted out of shape, and then he flew backward.
Exhaling roughly, the nun flexed her finger joints and walked toward the remaining people.
With each step she took, she seemed to grow taller, and the people before her were so frightened they became silent as cicadas in winter, and then one by one, she punched them, breaking their spines, robbing them of any future happiness or lower body joy.
