Leo continued his advance, the [Drakevolt Spear] gripped tightly in his hand. Sparks rippled across its surface, the weapon humming like it was alive—like it wanted more.
He moved like a storm barely restrained, lightning bottled up in muscle and instinct. Calm on the outside. Coiled on the inside.
Leo was strong.
But so were the enemies.
I counted at least twenty of them still standing. Most weren't pushovers, either. Armed, coordinated, hungry for blood. If this were a fair fight, it'd be a massacre.
…For us.
With that spear in hand, Leo could probably take on seven—maybe even ten—by himself. And knowing his personality?
He would try to take all of them alone.
The only reason he hadn't yet was because of us.
Because Trent was out cold.
Because we—the rear—were vulnerable.
Leo glanced back just once. Briefly.
It wasn't hesitation.
It was calculation.
He was holding himself back—for now.
Then he moved.
THRUST—!
