White Mitchell's brows furrowed tightly, his hands gripped the hilt of his sword, ready for further engagement with the old beggar. His heart was full of determination, he would not allow the evil power to invade he and his companions.
The old beggar gradually approached, a strange aura came face to face. His appearance was illusory, as if his body was just a phantom, blurred and terrifying. Faceless, his eyes were filled with strangeness and evilness.
White Mitchell took a deep breath, his movements agile like a hawk striking the sky, swiftly attacked the old beggar. The sword light flickered, with incredibly sharp momentum, he slashed towards the old beggar.
However, the old beggar seemed to have anticipated White Mitchell's movements. He evaded White Mitchell's attack in a mysterious manner, as if he was freely dancing around. White Mitchell's sword just grazed his body and was unable to truly hit him.