The black-iron greatsword sheared down through the cold evening air, aiming directly for Mina Vance’s slender neck.
A flash of silver lightning tore across the marble terrace.
CLANG.
The impact rang out like a bronze temple bell striking an anvil.
At Hour 530—as Kaelen’s Fallow Slate reached a five hundred and thirty-one times multiplier—Sera Thorne stepped into the gap, holding Storm-Pike two-handed across her chest. The spirit-iron spear shaft caught the notched edge of the greatsword three inches above the stone.
The downward momentum was monstrous.
Two marble steps shattered beneath Sera’s boots, hairline cracks racing across the terrace floor. The force drove Sera’s knees down two inches, but her refined Jade Meridian Late core held firm as iron bedrock.
A violent shockwave of compressed wind burst outward, scattering gravel across the courtyard.
