It was a man whose hood had already been pulled back. He appeared to be a spirited young man who paid great attention to his appearance—despite having been trampled by Toby multiple times, his waxed slicked-back hairstyle remained perfectly intact.
And yet, despite this image-conscious individual, his face was now etched with despair.
His calves trembled uncontrollably, and his hands shook even though he held an alchemy weapon of unknown function. The weapon provided him with no sense of security, let alone instilled any deterrence against Toby.
He was like a cat frightened to its core, its fur bristling and claws raised in feeble defense. But faced with the ever-escalating momentum of his opponent, he lacked even the courage to strike back, instead retreating again and again in fear.
Toby merely fixed his crimson vertical pupils on him for a brief moment before shifting his gaze away.
