Clang!
With the crisp ring of colliding weapons and golden sparks scattering in every direction, the two Hedron Swords that had appeared in Nahiri's hands slammed fiercely into Greya's black-flamed blade.
"Madam, what is the meaning of this?"
The Dark Prince frowned and demanded an explanation.
As a rational person, he clearly could neither understand nor comprehend why she had attacked him the moment they met.
"Hehe, didn't your father tell you? This is how I greet people."
Nahiri grinned, revealing a rather excited smile.
"A way of greeting people?"
Greya could not understand the thought process of the obviously somewhat deranged woman before him.
Nahiri nodded without hesitation. "That's right!
When I first met your father, we got acquainted through the swords in our hands as well.
Although he was still somewhat immature at the time, I have to say it was quite an enjoyable exchange, and it established the alliance between us.
In my view, this world is filled with lies, deceit, disguises, and betrayal.
But there is one thing that never lies: the sword in your hand.
Because when facing a threat deadly enough, a person will inevitably reveal their truest thoughts.
So now, use the sword in your hand to establish a relationship of trust with me.
After all, we are about to become allies fighting side by side, aren't we?"
"So you simply felt like fighting me on a whim?"
The corner of Greya's mouth twitched uncontrollably. He clearly did not believe a single word of that nonsense.
In his view, this veteran Planeswalker, who was far older than even his father, was essentially a madwoman with mental and psychological problems, just like Isadora.
Nahiri the Lithoformer simply did not seem to be mad enough. She still retained part of her rationality and a complete