The white blade gleamed under the cold light of the peak, and a silent wave of death, like a colorless mist, crept from its edge.
The White Whale held her sword before her body. Her right hand was wrapped around the hilt, and her left hand was slightly lower, near the base of the handle.
Her stance looked simple, but there was no opening in it. No shoulder was too far forward, no weight was leaning on one leg, and the blade wasn't angled in a way that would reveal the direction of her next attack.
This was the stance of someone who had gone through thousands of battles and had removed unnecessary movements from her style one by one.
The cold pressure of the Law of Death slowly gathered around the sword.
At first, only a gray aura could be seen on the blade, but a few seconds later, the white snow around the woman's feet began to change.
