In a messy room, a corpse chopped off at the waist showed clear marks of cauterization. There were similar traces of scorching on the wall to the right and the wall next to the window.
Even though the extreme heat had cauterized the body enough to prevent extensive loss of blood, fresh purplish-red blood still managed to stain at least half of the floor in the room.
A man wearing a white shirt stood in the room, the area around his feet coincidentally free of blood.
Blood was still dripping from the blade of the long sword in his hand like rainwater from a roof.
"Can't believe how weak this fellow was," the man in the white shirt commented while eyeing the body.
"If my opponents are all like this, even if I mess up I might be number one too, what more that Fallen Star girl."
In the entire Death Sickle organization, there was only one person with a thick enough skin to come up with a quip like that—Destiny.