As Tycondrius should have rightfully expected, his sister did not reach out to embrace him.
Cass stopped a half-pace away.
She planted her feet.
She raised her left fist to cover her eye.
She... dropped her right fist beside her waist.
Then she began to rotate her body, starting with her legs, followed by her torso.
Tycon realized what was happening, but far too late. He tried to retract his arms, but they were fully extended. He wanted to move away, but he made the amateur mistake of locking his legs.
His sister's mana emissions were thick with malice.
How much mana had she channeled into her tiny fist? Was she an advanced enough Wind Mage to reduce the air-resistance of her strike?
Tycon began to pity himself, as if he was an outsider watching a stranger. That handsome, green-haired gentleman's alacritous analysis was utterly useless without the ability to act upon it.
And so...
