"Tch!"
A dagger pierced into the soft belly of a wild wolf, then sliced open its abdomen, releasing a nauseating stench as the wolf's innards spilled out like a flood breaching a dam.
It didn't even hit the ground before it was completely dead.
The whole motion was done in one fluid movement—in just a few seconds, Roger, like a butcher swiftly preparing a cow, found the impossible in the minutest details and finished his target with two strikes.
As soon as he completed this, Roger's tension relaxed, and that peculiar sense of extreme slowness vanished. Before he had time to marvel, an irresistible itching sensation welled up from his eyes.
Tears streamed down his face.
"Thump!"
Rip clutched his chest and fell to the ground as a certain power within him subsided, his excessively grown hair and beard slowly returning to normal. Struggling, he spat out his last words to the young man standing with a dagger.
"Mr. Sherman won't let you get away with this."
