Mistblade VS Wither
Across the scattered platforms surrounding the clock arena, every player watched Mistblade in silence.
They were looking at the current number one on the ladder.
Her pain was unmistakable. Her wounds were raw and ugly. Neither power nor status could ever truly heal them.
Across from her, the Undead Lord removed his black cloak.
His long black hair fell like silk. His face was pale, his frame thin enough that a strong wind might carry him away.
A glow appeared between Wither's brows.
He did not answer Mistblade's question. Instead, he asked his own.
"Do you know what my divine talent word is?"
Dragging his white bone scythe across the ground, he walked slowly toward her.
Then he answered himself.
"Sinblood."
"I'm not as honest as you. You never deny your sins. You never feel guilty about what you've done. Because you believe you don't even have the right to feel guilt."
