The Duke's eyes—once noble—were now bloodshot and rabid.
Hands trembling, he fumbled for a healing potion with his one remaining arm.
The vial shook in his grip.
Then—CLANG.
Steel exploded into his vision as the Divine General struck.
The vial shattered, spilling glowing liquid into the mud.
"Damn you!" the Duke roared, staggering back.
But he had no time to recover.
Kael was already there.
Silent. Relentless. Like death in motion.
The Duke spun, casting a barrier out of instinct—but Kael broke through it like glass.
The impact sent the Duke reeling.
He coughed blood, steps heavy.
His mana was fraying.
His strength flickering.
But he didn't fall.
He refused to fall.
With a guttural scream, the Duke drew a second blade, wielding it one-handed.
His form was wild now—less a swordsman, more a beast backed into a corner.
Each swing was savage, fueled by hatred.
Reckless.
Kael moved carefully, reading every movement.
He had no mana left to block.
