This sword…
The Winter Lord lowered his gaze to the blood-soaked greatsword protruding from his chest.
It belonged to the undead knight.
The elder coughed violently, hot blood spraying from his mouth. His vision slowly started to fade away as the venom wreaked havoc inside of him.
His end was near. He knew it.
Behind him, the masked man stood cold and unyielding.
He had suddenly appeared like a ghost, and the Elder couldn't sense his presence until the blade pierced his chest.
Adam's hands gripped the hilt of the greatsword. His robes were torn, his body marked with sword cuts. Blood had frozen against his skin, and much of his flesh was numb with frostbite.
Yet, despite it all, he remained upright, tall, and proud, radiating dominance and tyranny.
He swung the sword in a sharp, diagonal arc upward, cutting through the Winter Lord's lung, ribs, and shoulder.
The Elder grimaced in agony and collapsed to the ground.
