Rose Swordsmanship granted "Zorro" a nimble gait.
In the darkness, he was like a graceful dancer lightly stepping to the rhythm, swiftly traversing through the shadows of buildings, like a solo dance of the prince of the night. Swift and rhythmic, rare was it that he didn't attract any attention.
A moment later, a group of more than a dozen people pushing wheelbarrows toward the pier came into "Zorro's" view. Yet this group didn't notice that a gatecrasher had joined them in the shadows behind.
"You idiots, from now on, keep your mouths shut, don't say a word! We're just going to the dock to pick up goods, we know nothing else. If anyone makes a mistake, don't blame old Barry for being ruthless!"
Under "Zorro's" covert gaze, the leader, a man with a head of messy white curls like a lion, was softly warning his subordinates.
Swept by Barry's gaze, the lackeys felt as if being stared at by a sinister old wolf, hurriedly covering their mouths and nodding repeatedly to show fear.
