Northern bombarded the blind man from all corners of his blind world. He seized sound—the gentleman's greatest ally—and twisted it into his greatest enemy.
It was a vile thing to do. Unforgivable!
His swords screamed from every direction, slamming with titanic might that made Duke Amene's arm ring like a struck bell with each desperate block. The vibrations crawled up through bone and sinew, accumulating, compounding into something that would linger long after this battle ended—if he survived it.
The Duke's talent reinforced his body endlessly, as long as his soul essence held. But it wasn't as simple as body reinforcement.
It was more like the talent taught his body about itself—he moved better, learned faster forms of motion mid-battle, executed movements synonymous with the birth of a genius blazing with the endless energy of a day star.
