An Inglorious Past

"W-Why are you…" The Duke struggled to speak as blood spilled out of his mouth and splashed on his celebratory clothes.

The silvery white silk worn on the happy occasion was now dyed with a deep blood color. The shirt trembled softly before breathing a gentle power into the Duke's body.

Like a dead branch growing leaves, the Duke's complexion eased and he gasped like a man who almost died drowning. But even then, his pupils couldn't stop trembling fiercely as if they were witnessing a horrible sight.

But all he faced was a smiling middle-aged man. A man who instead of the signature horn that centurions were born with had scaly skin on his forehead and the corners of his face.

"Why am I able to weaken you?" Jorand chuckled and raised his hand.

A white gaseous power swirled in his palm, glowing softly like the moonlight. Even though its quantity was limited, its power was on an unimaginable level compared to that of anything the Duke could pull off.