"You!" the Marshal shouts above the roar of the wind, voice carried by mana.
"Who are you?! Are you with the invaders?"
She does not answer.
Her gaze remains locked on him—impassive. Unflinching. As though he were already beneath her concern.
"Answer me!" the Marshal demands again, flaring his aura further. The pressure from his Tier 6 power pulses like a war drum, shaking tiles loose from nearby rooftops. "By imperial law, I demand your intent!"
Still nothing.
Then, wind gathers—sudden and violent.
A sharp whirl splits the air just above her right hand. A weapon begins to form—not drawn, not summoned from a sheath, but born from the very storm around her.
A sword.
A massive greatsword of wind, translucent and jagged, nearly as long as she is tall. Its edge buzzes with raw elemental force, shaped more like a cleaver than a blade, pulsing with barely-contained destruction.
The Marshal's eyes widen.
"Tch—!"
But he reacts a heartbeat too slow.
BOOM—
