"Monsters…"
That was the only sentence Veyra could utter as she watched them since the very first clash.
The sheer violence of their strikes still echoed in her ears, a low, trembling thunder that refused to fade.
The Patriarch and his son moved too quickly for the naked eye to follow, each swing of their swords a quake that threatened to tear the very hall apart.
Her lips parted slightly as she stared.
Not many people could clash with the Patriarch even once and live to tell the tale.
To stand against him more than once… to still be alive after dozens of exchanges?
That was beyond belief.
Not even she, his trusted subordinate, could clash with him like this.
And even if the Patriarch was holding back, still standing against that much force was incredible.
Veyra turned her head, just slightly, toward Julius.
The boy was slack-jawed, staring at the battlefield as though he were witnessing the descent of gods.
His knuckles were white where they gripped.
