[Present.]
The sight of Wilfred's corpse lying motionless on the ground left his companions frozen in disbelief.
Blood pooled beneath his twisted body, soaking into the cracked stone of the mountain path.
His katana lay several meters away, snapped cleanly in half, its broken blade glinting faintly under the pale light.
His eyes were wide open, still reflecting shock, as if he had never truly accepted that death had come so swiftly.
Earlier, none of them had taken Thoren seriously.
A rookie.
A newly arrived necromancer.
Someone barely worth mentioning.
And yet.
A Level 16 Samurai had fallen in just three exchanges.
If they had not witnessed it with their own eyes, none of them would have believed it.
Fury surged through their chests like molten lava.
Shame followed closely behind.
Percival's jaw clenched so hard his teeth creaked.
Thick veins bulged on his forehead as his killing intent erupted uncontrollably.
