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That speed… is terrifying.
Leon’s eyes widened as he carefully studied the traces Varg had left behind. A straight black line was cut into the ground.
It gave off the faint stench of burning, the mark of where Varg had passed only seconds before. Even moving at such incredible speed, one foot had still touched the ground, and the friction alone had scorched the surface of the stone black.
It meant that without the condition of having both feet on the ground, he could have moved even faster than that.
“Hah.”
Leon let out a hollow laugh despite himself. He had been careless.
He’d chosen a defensive stance, telling himself it was “ready for anything,” believing that he only needed to land a single strike to win. In truth, it was arrogance.
Varg, the Beast King. The apex of the Great Savannah. The heir to a martial art forged by Rodrick himself. Facing him with such a mindset was unacceptable. Leon corrected himself, raising his sword high.
“Oh?”
For the first time, light gleamed in Varg’s otherwise impassive eyes.
A high guard and an open declaration of intent that if he comes closer, he’ll be cut. His gaze, devoid of all distraction, gleamed like a freshly whetted blade.
And his spirit? Golden flames rippled across his body, scorching even the passing winds. He had poured all his Aura into his nervous system, sharpening his reaction speed...
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