Before Azel could even decide to spring forward and join in the fight —
WHOOSH!
A blur of motion ripped through the air, whipping Azel's hair backward from the sheer force.
The spearman had moved.
Not just quickly, but impossibly fast.
He was already high above the battlefield, body suspended against the white sky as though he had been launched from a catapult.
Azel's eyes widened, barely able to follow the figure.
'He's not just fast… he's practically flying.'
The experienced warrior adjusted midair with fluid grace, hoisting his weapon — a massive bone spear over his shoulder.
His entire posture shifted into one of absolute focus.
He drew in a long, deep breath.
The cold answered him.
Mist poured from his mouth as he exhaled, curling around his frame in a silver halo.
Then his aura erupted — brilliant orange, raw and blazing, spilling from his palm and into the weapon as though the spear itself had caught fire.
And then he threw.
