It was a good thing Mioksa didn’t need to breathe. Otherwise, she’d be gasping for breath even though he had released his grip on her neck a little. His cold eyes looked into hers as a cruel smile came upon his lips before her spoke. Immediately she knew she wasn’t going to like him if this was how he treated anyone.

“Cut the crap, wench,” he spoke immediately. The shadow incarnate faked a little gasp, her feet dangling off the ground as people in the street stopped dead to watch. She understood why no one came rushing to her aid, but it still would’ve made her feel a little better if someone cared about her.

An awkward silence prevailed over the scene until the man looked down to the sword on her belt. “Mind if I play with this?” He mocked her, using her previous tone of voice. If she hadn’t wanted to make sure the sword met its end, she would have let him just take it. However, that was far from the case.

Using the shadows under his hand, she pushed back fiercely, causing him to lose her grip and allow her to jump back. “You aren’t very nice, are you? It’s my Mr. Sword, and I won’t let you touch it!” Quickly, she drew the massive Vaskalen from its scabbard and pointed it at him. “You can have it over my dead body,” she smiled.