I was watching my sister Lay, killing uncontrollably, still pursuing that terrifying swordsmanship, she looked as if she enjoyed making people feel pain before killing them, a beast with no apparent control bathed in blood, her whole body was already dyed in it.
She even looked much sharper than I already knew her, perhaps the battle she lost to Gran made her want to perfect herself that much more. She was going up against a huge man who had at least two heads on him. That Irishman attacked Lay with all his might, I couldn't help but worry because Lay went straight to parry the blow with his sword, which seemed totally reckless, but Lay dropped my mouth, with the black-bladed bastard sword he was carrying he smashed the wooden mace that the Irishman was using as a club.
