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His sword looked as white as a snowy field. Its elegant, flowing curve could make anyone gasp in awe. Delicate snowflake patterns, like those crafted by a master artisan, were etched into its surface. There was no need to explain that this sword was clearly a masterpiece. No, even calling it a masterpiece was far too modest.
A divine relic.
This sword wasn’t made by a human, but by a god. Just drawing it from its sheath released a chilling cold that seeped into anyone like poison. Every breath turned pale frost, and Kwon Oh-Jin’s muscles stiffened as if he were submerged in ice water.
I didn’t think I’d be freezing inside a volcano.
If he’d known this would happen, he would’ve brought a cold-resistance vest instead of one for fire. His sharp gaze locked onto the white sword in Deimos’s hand.
In what world is that thing considered square?
Whether it was light or not, he couldn’t say without holding it. However, it certainly didn’t fit the description of a square at all.
—My treasure! Give it back!
Baek Mu-Kang shouted in a fluster from the communication or...
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