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The Old Archfae stood frozen like a statue...
Cold sweat poured down his back, his heart pounded in trepidation, and he couldn't even dare to move his eyes or his head to see the person who appeared right next to him without any prior notice.
What intensified his terror was the feeling of his mana fizzling uselessly.
Mana, the very energy that Faes rely on to fuel their magic—the lifeblood of their race—has been effortlessly suppressed by whatever means this person had. Not even a single ounce of mana answered to his will; it moved on its own to keep him alive, but it didn't answer to his wishes, unlike usual.
Furthermore, this man was even more terrifying than he could've ever imagined.
Effortlessly disconnecting his mana from him was one thing; this person's presence was another. The Old Archfae never sensed his approach—not a sound, trace, or even a whisper. He just appeared right next to him, draped his arm on his shoulders, and 'kindly' asked him a question.
