I blinked.
A sword rushed towards my face.
Instinctively, I kicked the edge of the table.
The blade grazed past my chin.
The chair I was sitting on fell down as I exerted force on my hands to backflip onto my feet.
Uncomfortable fear quickly started to creep within my body as I stared at Wilhelm.
Like a predator, he was letting out a suffocating pressure that dampened me.
He let out a low, chilling chuckle, rising to his feet, the sword gripped in his hand.
"What else was I expecting?" he muttered, his tone laced with contempt. "Of course, you're after my master's sword art."
The sword in his hand gleamed as he effortlessly shoved the heavy table aside.
"Listen to me—"
"Shut up!" he barked, cutting me off, his voice sharp and brimming with unrestrained anger.
"I thought you were different from those damned elves, but you're just like them—demanding my master's art as though you have any claim to it."
