Lynch grasped the hilt of Ifrid's Sword.
Upon holding it, rather than imagining a scorching heat, he felt a deep, warm sensation, as if he was holding not metal but the core of a sleeping, life-force laden sun. The fit between the hilt and his palm was perfect, as if crafted precisely for him.
With his mind stirring, he neither summoned his spiritual power nor domain power; he simply relied on the strength of his wrist to casually swing it forward twice.
"Buzz—Buzz—"
No earth-shattering boom, only two deep and majestic hums like the very space was being torn apart.
As the blade swung, two crescent-shaped, flame Sword Qi, refined to the utmost and edged with pure platinum, silently emerged from the sword!
Where they passed, space did not merely twist but melted and collapsed like ice encountering a red-hot iron, leaving two fleeting void black tracks!
