The man's body trembled.
Yet somehow, he stood tall again.
"The blade," he said, his voice cracked but still deliberate. "That wasn't even you losing control."
"No," Ian said.
The red-cloaked man stared. There was something akin to reverence in his gaze now. Like a cultist who had just glimpsed his god and survived.
Then he laughed again—but this time, it was hollow.
———
The air broke.
The silence that followed Ian's hundred cuts had not lasted long.
The stranger stood amid the splintered ruin of the forest, blood staining his robes, but the grin on his face remained unwavering.
He exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers as if waking them from slumber. Red mist wafted from his cloak, coiling upward like slips of sentient smoke.
"Well," he said, tilting his head back. "That certainly lived up to the rumors."
Ian did not answer.
He stood still as stone, one hand on the hilt of Judgment, the other relaxed by his side. His gaze was calm, unreadable.
