His movements flowed together without pause. Every attack concealed another attack. Every feint concealed another angle. To ordinary observers, Noah's figure seemed to split into multiple afterimages as he moved around the old man from every direction.
Yet throughout the entire exchange, the old man never moved.
Not even a single step.
His scythe rotated lazily.
One motion blocked the front.
Another blocked the left.
The curved blade shifted behind him and intercepted an attack he should not even have been able to see.
Meanwhile, his free hand dealt with the remaining strikes.
Palm.
Finger.
Wrist.
Every movement was minimal.
Every defense arrived exactly where it needed to be.
The difference in experience was overwhelming.
Lucian watched in disbelief.
It did not look like a battle.
It looked like a teacher correcting a child.
The more Noah attacked, the more terrifying the old man appeared.
Eventually, Noah altered his rhythm.
His body twisted.
