Yet just as Kazal raised her bristling hand to smack down upon Amita's delicate face, it failed to produce, as it always had, that crisp crack which once filled her body and mind with perverse delight.
A slender jade hand, outwardly as gentle as an orchid, closed around her rough, black wrist in an instant.
The savage force that could shatter the trunk of a century-old tree with a single slap vanished like a phantom, leaving not the slightest trace.
Only a gale rose behind Amita, whipping at her glossy black hair, for she had effortlessly dissolved and redirected her opponent's strength with the exquisite realm of "Unity of All Things."
"You…"
Kazal's expression changed drastically; she still tried to struggle.
But her younger sister's frail little hand was as unmoving as an iron clamp; the porcelain-doll face still wore that faint smile, as though she felt no pressure at all.
