Zaphael blinked another tear and found his eyes widening at the same thing that had shocked everyone else.
The strongest swordsman of Nova Zephcross, Ninor the Kingslayer, had evaded both the blades slashed at him, turning his shoulders to the left, not moving his feet farther than a single step to the right.
Zaphael's feet touched the dirty floor and he quickly turned to face his opponent. In a duel of swords, every single second counted, for blades were too sharp and necks were too soft.
However, when Zaphael received no answer from his opponent's blade, he took the moment to lower himself to a stance, holding a blade to either side. His body remembered. His body KNEW. Then he finally noticed why his opponent hadn't countered, even after dodging so fluidly.
Ninor's blades were still sheathed, right arm still behind his back, expression still calm.
