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Deyal, the Lord of the East. Appearance-wise, he looked no different from a middle-aged farmer, and he didn’t really have much character. If someone met him in a village, they would have just passed by, thinking he was a farmer and nothing more.
However, Eslow froze at his arrival. Even the recovery of his completely severed shoulder drastically slowed down.
In the meantime, Keter quietly took Eslow’s severed arm and retreaded backward.
Just then, Deyal called out, stopping Keter. “Where do you think you’re going?”
His gaze and sword still pointed at Eslow, but Keter felt as if the sword were pressed against his own neck.
Keter casually answered, “The washroom.”
“Please wait a moment. This will be over soon.”
Eslow smirked at Deyal’s words. “Over soon? Surely you’re not talking about me, Deyal. You lost all one hundred fights against me.”
Deyal calmly nodded. “Yes, I admit that. I fought you one hundred times and lost every time. But you already know, don’t you?”
A breeze blew, making Deyal’s tied hair slightly sway side to side. Right then, the tip of Deyal’s...
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