"Whoosh!"
Yami Tsukahara's figure had just rushed to the entrance of the reception hall.
Before he could even make out the scene inside, Shiki cast a glance over, cold to the extreme.
But that single look—
Yami Tsukahara felt a boom explode through his mind.
It was as if a colossal sword, vast enough to split heaven and earth, had instantly come to a stop above his very soul.
His body, which had been moving at high speed, came to an abrupt halt without warning at that moment, freezing stiff before the threshold of the reception hall.
He felt a bone-piercing chill shoot straight from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.
Yami Tsukahara felt as though he had fallen into an icy abyss ten thousand fathoms deep, his blood on the verge of freezing solid, so much so that he could barely move even a single finger.
Unease and fear surged wildly into his heart like a tide.
At that moment, Yami Tsukahara had an illusion—
that he was like weak prey, laid bare beneath the gaze of a golden lion.
With a single thought from the other party, he would be torn to pieces!
In an instant, the entire reception hall sank into a deathly silence.
Only Yami Tsukahara's heavy, labored breathing remained.
Then Shiki's voice rang by his ear, carrying a trace of laziness and a trace of arrogance as he asked, "You're the deputy dormitory head of Swordmaster Hall, that so-called god and sword saint?"
Shiki lifted his chin slightly, looking down at Yami Tsukahara, who stood frozen in place, the corner of his mouth curling with undisguised contempt and mockery.
"You don't look like much to me~"
Though his words were harsh, the sword intent and aura locked onto Yami Tsukahara