"..."
"..."
The white-bearded dwarf knelt on the ground, holding the Great Sword of Death aloft with both hands, his head respectfully bowed, not daring to look directly at the Witch's face in front of him, only able to see a pair of jade feet suspended in the air.
The atmosphere seemed to freeze.
Cold sweat slid down his forehead to the tip of his nose and then dripped onto the dry ground. He had never imagined that he would encounter two Witches.
And one of them was the much-feared Witch of Death.
"The Great Sword of Death, was it crafted ahead of time?" came a cold yet pleasant voice, unhurriedly.
Then the white-bearded dwarf felt the Great Sword of Death being taken from his hands.
"It's all the master's hard work," came the sound of footsteps, and the white-bearded dwarf instinctively looked up, squeezing out a rather difficult smile at the silver-armored knight appearing beside him.
He certainly had to try hard, otherwise, his own life was at stake.
