Was that... a sword?
Keizo's eyes widened, his face filled with shock.
He had never expected Scribe, who looked so gentle and refined, to carry a sword with him.
Scribe fastened the sword at his waist, waved his hand, and left.
Keizo wanted to stop him, but then froze where he stood.
He could clearly sense that the moment Scribe took hold of the sword, a faint sharpness flashed from his body.
It was scorching and majestic, as though it would burn away all evil.
It should be fine... right?
Tears welled up as Keizo murmured to himself.
After leaving Soryu Dojo, Scribe walked slowly down the street.
It was already late at night, and there were no pedestrians left on the road.
Other than Scribe's breathing, only the occasional sound of wind could be heard.
After briefly surveying his surroundings, Scribe pushed off lightly and leaped onto a rooftop.
Just because he could not see did not mean he could not sense.
Following the guidance in his heart, he ran toward one corner of the town.
At the same time, in the direction Scribe was heading, the five drunkards Hakuji had knocked to the ground earlier were supporting one another as they walked.
"Ow, Boss, that really hurts!"
"Bullshit, you think I don't hurt too?"
He touched the bruises and swelling on his face, instantly grimacing in pain.
He had never expected to run into such a tough opponent tonight.
A mere fifteen-year-old brat had actually knocked down five grown men.
Not only that, judging by the way the other party had fought, he seemed to have held back.
As the drunkard leader plotted how to take revenge later, a chill suddenly ran down his spine.
The lackey beside him was trembling so badly that even his speech became