Bairan stared at the man, his face twisted with a strange expression—a cocktail of subtle surprise and raw disgust.
The soldier had surprised him not once now, but twice. He never expected any living soul, Paragon or not, to stand upright and healthy after being struck by him.
Of course, Bairan understood this probably had something to do with the guy's talent, but Bairan lived by certain expectations about how battles unfolded—expectations that depended on him, not whatever powers his opponent might or might not possess.
It seemed he would need to take things more seriously than planned.
'I don't want to break him... that's the thing.'
Bairan wasn't truly part of this conflict; he viewed everything from a helper's vantage point. He would remain at peace with every opponent he faced, except for his disgust that this man had touched him with those filthy hands. Nothing else prodded at the depths of how petty and tyrannical he could become.
