You fell for it, Mordred

Mordred emerged from the tent, carrying the crimson Demon Sword on her shoulder.

Before her stood row upon row of Righteous Knights in perfect formation, stretching so far she could nearly see no end to them.

The corners of her mouth split into a savage grin, revealing sharp little canine teeth.

She swept her gaze around. Inside and outside the entire formation, not a sound could be heard. Once an order was given, it was carried out without fail; apart from the faint rustling of movement, there was nothing else.

Mordred could not help but nod in satisfaction.

With such a formidable force, even the personal guards under her command in life probably had not exuded such oppressive presence.

After all, they had no emotions...