Looking down upon the battlefield from high above, one would see a distinct red sea relentlessly surging toward a black jungle of steel.
It had become difficult to distinguish one person from another, but when the Lord enveloped himself in Holy Light, he stood out like a prince on a white horse amidst a crowd of barefoot peasants.
Mandela watched all this from the back of a Griffin high in the sky. He and Fulina had discussed this in private; his niece held the Lord of High Cliff Castle in the highest regard. She said his talent for commanding small-scale battles was exceptional and his strength was terrifying, having once single-handedly defeated three hundred Berserk Minotaurs.
But knowing it and seeing it with his own eyes were two completely different things. The sheer visual impact was beyond what words could convey.
What surprised Mandela even more was that the man's Holy Light Cultivation had reached such a high level.
