The Khan charged straight at him, ending their latest exchange—he had long since lost count—with a clean, decisive slash.
His body accelerated in an instant, crossing the distance between them like white lightning as the Tiger-Head Greatsword traced a perfect arc through the air.
The arc was simple and precise, with no wasted motion or strength, only a beauty so perfectly balanced that it seemed meticulously calculated.
The blade left a silvery-white streak in the air.
CLANG!!!
A sharp metallic crash echoed across the square, followed by the piercing screech of metal scraping against metal.
Abial staggered back two steps. A deep slash now ran down his Helmet from forehead to jaw.
The cut sank nearly a finger's breadth into the brass armor, its smooth, even edges gleaming with freshly exposed metal beneath the dim daylight.
Had that strike gone even a fraction deeper, his skull would likely have been split in two.
"Wonderful, wonderful..."
Abial reached up and slowly caressed the slash on his Helmet, his fingertips gliding lightly over the smooth cut.
There was no anger or fear in his voice, only rapture and excitement, as though he had tasted an incomparable delicacy.
"What a wonderful opponent..."
The Khan ignored his praise. He stood in the center of the square, breathing slightly hard as his gaze swept rapidly over his surroundings.
His brow tightened slightly at that moment. He had noticed something wrong.
The outlines of the surrounding terrain, which resembled Chogoris, began to blur. Their edges rippled and warped like a painting soaking in water, gradually losing its original shapes and colors.
The illusion was unraveling.
He looked around as the scene before him peeled away piece by piece like a shattered mirror, breaking apart and dissolving.
All the beautiful scenery vanished, replaced by a desolate, barren