Whoosh, whoosh!
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!
Sharp and piercing sounds of cutting air echoed in the not-so-spacious living room.
The setting sun cast a golden glow on the window, as if it had been dusted with gold powder.
The light entering the room turned the table, chairs, and floor a golden yellow, also bestowing a special sheen on a young man's body.
He held an unsheathed dagger in his hand, continuously waving and striking the air.
It was as if in this moment and place, an innumerable number of enemies existed before him, and he was single-handedly penetrating their den, fighting a bloody battle.
The blade reflected the cold golden light, and as the shadow moved persistently advancing, sprinting, circling, counter-cutting.
It was like a butterfly spreading its wings, flapping its beautiful wings.
And the owner who held it was just as agile, constantly moving swiftly and stabbing rapidly.
