Valdris narrowed his eyes.
'He needs to die.'
Ulrich had become far more dangerous than Valdris had expected. His swordsmanship had already surpassed his first assessment, and the Count's mana control made the situation worse. He used magic with the speed of a battle-hardened mage, yet he did not rely on large spells or dramatic displays. Every formation served a purpose. Every spell bought him an opening, protected a weakness, or forced Valdris to give up ground.
The crimson reinforcement around Ulrich's blade burst apart.
Valdris's black sword cut through it, dismantling the mana structure with a shower of red sparks. Yet the strengthened connections within the spell resisted long enough to slow the commander's strike.
Ulrich shifted aside.
The black blade passed across the front of his coat, slicing cloth rather than flesh.
Ulrich answered with a thrust toward Valdris's throat.
