Blood soaked the snow, turning the once-pristine landscape into a field of red. The bodies of the beasts lay scattered, some torn apart beyond recognition.
Steam rose from the warm blood, mixing with the cold air, creating an eerie mist. If someone looked from above, it would almost seem like a twisted painting—dark figures sprawled over the white canvas, painted with crimson strokes.
Kael raised his sword to put it back in the scabbard but stopped, noticing the blood and flesh clinging to the blade. He stared at it for a moment before muttering, "It needs to be cleaned."
His gaze then shifted to Albert, who was panting heavily, his face red from exhaustion. At the same time, Albert looked at Kael, his mind racing.
What the hell is wrong with this maniac? Albert thought. I'm already worn out despite being B-rank, but he looks completely fine.
He's only C-rank… so how is this possible?
