Chapter 9: Death row
Chapter 9
Ronan barely had time to react before the frail man lunged.
A blur of motion—then pain exploded through his ribs. The force sent him staggering, barely catching himself before another hit slammed into his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, trying to counter, but the moment he even thought about moving, another blow came.
It was brutal, Precise and Calculated.
The frail man wasn't just attacking him—he was dismantling him.
Ronan gasped as a sharp strike caught his diaphragm, knocking the breath from his lungs. He staggered, trying to regain his footing, but the next second, his legs were swept from under him. He crashed to the ground, coughing, his vision bluring.
He barely pushed himself up when a foot slammed against his chest, pinning him down.
"You're pathetic," the frail man muttered, his voice laced with disappointment. "I expected something better from the man Nathaniel recommended himself."
Ronan clenched his jaw, frustration burning inside him. He couldn't land a single hit. The frail man didn't even use any abilities—just pure skill. And yet, Ronan was completely outmatched.
A slow clap echoed through the field.
"That's enough," Nathaniel's voice rang out smoothly.