The old man gritted his teeth, enduring his pain, and forced himself to get up. He then called the others to charge at Fane.
“Grahh!"
The group drew out their fine swords, one b y one, and rushed toward Fane.
“Since you guys want to dance with death s o badly, I'll grant your wish!"
Fane flipped his palm, and the black-metal sword appeared in his hand.
Fwoosh!
Fane flicked his wrist as slashes from the sword formed terrifying pressurized wind blades that flew toward the group. Just like that, the men fell to the floor, lifeless.
"You... You know how to cast pressurized wind blades!”
The old man was startled. He thought that Fane would be slain by this night, what with the large number of people with him, but all was in vain.
“Spill it! Did Lily send you here?"
Fane held the sword in his hand and stalked toward the old man. His eyes were dull and emotionless, his voice flat and merciless—it sent chills down others' spine. The man before him looked all too ordinary, thought the old man. Who would have thought that the blades of wind were conjured by him?
"I'll fight you to death!”
Not wanting to divulge in the truth, the old man raced toward Fane with a sword in his hand, wanting to cut his head clean from his shoulders.
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