Chapter 9: The White Flame
The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed through the clearing.
Noah exhaled sharply, his katana—Kagetsume—already mid-swing as he darted forward. His legs pulsed with augmented strength, muscles tense and aching from overuse, but still functional. Across from him, two Enchanters raised their hands, gathering mana for a wide-scale spell.
"Too slow," Noah muttered under his breath.
He leaned in, twisting his hips with surgical precision.
"Crescent Fang!" he called out.
A flash of motion. His blade swept diagonally across the air, fast and silent. A pale arc of light—sharp and moon-shaped—traced behind the cut like a ghost. The Enchanter on the left barely saw it coming; his spell died on his lips as Noah’s strike knocked the staff clean out of his hand. The second opponent flinched, but it was too late.
Noah spun, leg muscles howling as he forced another step.
"Crescent Fang!" again.
The strain was immediate. His wrist twitched. His calf locked up for half a second—but the blow still connected, slashing across the enemy’s sleeve and sending his casting focus spinning across the dirt.
Both men stumbled back, disarmed, gasping. They weren’t dead. Not even bleeding heavily. But they were done.
Noah planted his foot and backed away, chest rising and falling with effort.