“Rumble…”
Water rushed down from that tens of meters high waterfall, striking against the deep pool of water at the bottom, creating countless sprays of water. The water within this deep pool flowed out into a narrow creek, slowly winding its way downwards. Barker and Zassler followed this little creek deeper and deeper into Mt. Blackraven.
At the end of this creek was a peaceful lake. In the center of the lake, there was a gracefully built wooden cabin.
In front of the wooden cabin, there was a long-haired man wearing a loose robe who was wielding a violet longsword slowly. But in actuality, this ‘slowness’ was an illusion, a misperception of Zassler’s and Barker’s. Although it seemed slow, in truth, it was terrifyingly fast.
This sensation of a visual misperception made Barker and Zassler have the urge to vomit blood.
With each strike of the sword, it seemed as though the surrounding space itself was twisted.
