The serrated blade cleaved through the smoke, casting a bloody shadow across Kaelen’s eyes.
Thirty feet of drop added terrifying momentum to Varga’s strike. The bandit captain’s massive arms were corded with black veins, swollen to twice their natural thickness by the berserk art. The whistling edge of the Blood-Cleaver Sabre compressed the air before it into a concussive shockwave that cracked the stone dais beneath Kaelen’s slippers.
“Kaelen!” Sera screamed, lunging forward with her star-iron pike.
She was ten paces away, caught behind the balustrade. She would never reach him in time.
Kaelen didn’t take a single backward step. He didn’t even shift his footing.
Thirty years of swinging a meat cleaver, and he still drops his left shoulder when he jumps, Kaelen thought, tilting his chin upward with mild disinterest. If my old sword instructor saw footwork this sloppy, he would have beaten him bloody with an iron soup ladle.
Behind his eyes, the Fallow Slate flashed with blazing scarlet light.
[The Fallow Slate] [Stage 2: Tri-Track Cultivation Tally] [Track 2 (Martial Combat): 110h 00m / 720h] [Milestone Ready: 110 Hours Accumulated -> 111x Multiplier Unlocked] [Safe Strike Limit: 100x | Max Overload: 200x] [Execute Cash-Out for Track 2?]
