Velric's axes blurred through the air, each swing cutting through space with devastating force. He wasn't holding back. He couldn't afford to. His opponent wasn't just fast—Anup moved like a ghost, slipping between the strikes as if he existed in a different rhythm than the rest of the world.
The crowd roared as Velric's strikes came down like a relentless storm. Sparks erupted whenever his axes grazed the stone floor, leaving behind jagged scars in their wake. His mana surged wildly, wrapping around his arms like a raging inferno. Every attack carried enough force to break bones, to crush the average warrior into dust.
And yet, none of it connected.
Anup wasn't simply dodging—he was weaving through the storm like a whisper in the wind. His golden eyes never blinked, his expression never changed. There was no fear. No urgency. Only an eerie, unshaken calm.
Velric snarled, twisting his body to unleash a brutal downward slash, pouring all his strength into a decisive blow.
