In the early years of the Sword Saint's journey, before reaching the pinnacle of his powers, like all hero stories, he too faced dilemmas.
"Oh, Elvyn with the Dual Swords? Your sword is fast indeed, but can it be faster than me slicing off his head at this distance?" The cultist, gasping for breath with a gash on his chest, faced Elvyn at the doorway, pressing a small knife against the throat of a bound young man.
The young man was Elvyn's friend, and he was the one who gathered the information that gave Elvyn the chance to stop this bunch of cultists' ritual.
But now, he is captured.
Seeing the ritual's light illuminate the room in the back, Elvyn knew he couldn't be stalled here any longer.
He looked into his friend's eyes, and his friend gave a barely noticeable nod.
"I'm sorry..." Elvyn murmured softly.
