Chapter 182: The Difference Between Them
Belarion is like a force of nature, an embodiment of relentless fury and unyielding strength.
His every move is a maelstrom of violence.
His fists, like sledgehammers, struck with an unyielding force that shattered bones upon contact.
Each kick he unleashed was a hurricane of power, sending his foes flying through the air as if they were mere leaves caught in a tempest.
His eyes, once clear and calm, now glowed with an eerie red hue, a reflection of the battle rage that had consumed him.
The veins in his neck and forehead bulged with tension, and every muscle in his body coiled like a tightly wound spring.
Blood coated him from head to toe, his once gleaming armor now a grim testament to the carnage he had wrought.
His armor, dented and riddled with holes from enemy strikes, clung to him like a second skin, weighed down by the viscous mixture of his own blood and that of his adversaries.
Belarion senses is numbed to the stickiness and the oppressive weight of his armor; all that mattered was the target before him.
He fought with a mechanical precision, as though every movement was ingrained in his very being.
Conditioned reflexes took over, honed by years of combat and survival on the unforgiving Steppe.