Moon.
An inhospitable wasteland devoid of any inhabitants for billions of years.
Yet at this moment, a man without the aid of any technological equipment and merely dressed in a thin robe, sat casually atop a crater ridge with temperatures of 150°C.
Behind him, on the cliff below, three swords were firmly planted in the desolate and barren landscape of the lunar surface.
One of them, entirely crimson as if it were an ever-changing blood shadow, continuously emitted strange and eerie light.
To the right of the blood-red longsword, there was another sword shrouded in darkness as if it intended to devour all light around it.
At this moment, the black sword vibrated gently, as though trying to emit a sword's hum, anticipating the upcoming battle.
To the right of the black sword, there was a silver-colored broken sword no larger than the palm of a hand.
