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Whoosh.
Guillotine hummed as its blade touched the neck of the Dark Magic Tower Master, Libre.
Slick.
A thin stream of red blood trickled down from the point of contact, where the blade's aura had grazed his skin. Caron frowned at the metallic scent that hit his nose.
"What a revolting taste in hobbies you've got," Caron muttered. "Did you even fake the smell of blood?"
Libre smiled sweetly and replied, "As I said before—this isn't an illusion. This is my real body. If you sever my head with that sword, I will die here and now."
"You're making me want to test it. I've always had a terrible curiosity," Caron said.
"I expected as much," Libre said. "From my analysis, hesitation is not in your nature. You may as well try. I, of course, will die."
The most dangerous opponent in the world was a lunatic. One couldn't read beyond the madness in someone's eyes. Libre was exactly that kind of man—one who could smile in any situation. That made him truly deranged.
Caron kept his blade pressed to the boy's throat and offered a smile just as twisted. He said, "I figured you were working with the Mercenary King, but I didn't expect you to show up in person. Aren't dark mages usually the type to scurry around in their burrows like rats?"
Despite the overt insult, Libre chuckled and answered, "You understand the nature...
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