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- The Lone Swordsman was on the offensive, and I saw that Masego hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the man could single-handedly hold a street off: the hero moved forward at a walking pace, and everywhere he went devils died. There were no bursts of light, no displays of Heavenly wrath or even Name-enhanced strength as he fought. William simply waited for their attacks, avoided them by a hair’s breadth and sent heads rolling with a single measured swing. I’d studied swordsmanship under one of its greatest living practitioners for a year, sparred with a woman who could tear through steel with her bare hands and fought a demon of the Thirteenth Hell on foot with only five people at my side. And yet, in that moment, the sight of the Lone Swordsman calmly dispatching one opponent after another sent a shiver down my spine. That was what the Mandate of Heaven looked like, I thought. An inexorable march forward against which even the most monstrous of strengths failed.
- - Book 2, Chapter 43: Truce
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