'What the hell is he?' Seraphina thought, her sword trembling in her grip as her gaze locked on Arthur.
The battlefield had transformed into a tempest of light and shadows, the air charged with mana so potent it felt like static against her skin. Arkell, a White-ranked light mana swordsman, moved like a force of nature, his strikes glowing with precision and power. He stood as an immovable wall, radiant and unrelenting. Yet Arthur, standing barely within the boundaries of high Silver-rank, pressed forward. Each strike of his blade grew sharper, faster, and more precise than the last.
He wasn't just fighting Arkell. He was defying him.
Seraphina's breath hitched as she replayed the moment in her mind—the moment Arthur had stepped into Arkell's lethal trap. Against every instinct, against the primal fear that surged when faced with death, he had moved forward. Not away, not to the side. Forward. Into the jaws of the beast.
