A Sword Against Pride
"Hmm?" Shera frowned, but he quickly recovered and sneered.
"I was wondering who it was."
"So it's the First Elder of the Prison Holy Sect, Respected Sirius."
"Why are you here?"
"Do you want to avenge your student like this useless elder of yours?"
The sky gradually calmed after the previous battle, but the air still carried remnants of violent sword intent. Cracks spread across the earth beneath them, and scattered rocks floated briefly before dropping back down.
Respected Sirius slowly descended from the sky.
He wore gray robes embroidered with dark golden patterns. His eyes swept across the battlefield once before landing on Ronan, who was still coughing blood on the ground.
His brows instantly tightened.
Disappointment.
Cold anger.
And embarrassment.
He had already learned what happened through spiritual perception before arriving.
The root of everything had started with his beloved student.
A spar.
A defeat.
That alone meant nothing.
