No. 120 moved through the deserters, his sword beheading one after the other.
No one could stop him, and how would they?
There was no way some Bronze or Silver Cores could stand against the might of a Platinum 4... no matter how many numbers they had.
Maybe, if all of them were some sort of geniuses in combat, then there was a chance to drain No. 120's mana reserves before ultimately killing him.
But—
No. 120 wasn't the only one.
Many of the soldiers followed his example, and soon the battlefield was dyed red.
With each kill, a new soul... rested in peace.
Maybe... it was a form of mercy to those that had decided to abandon D.X.
All of the deserters were being killed at a speed that was impossible for their eyes to track.
Which meant that... even when death was near them, they wouldn't notice a thing before finally being relieved of their duties and their lives.
