His sword flickered with a red aura as he lunged forward, aiming to strike at close range. Yet the old man raised his own sword, and a white haze enveloped its length, transforming into dancing white flames that danced with an otherworldly brilliance.
Their blades collided with explosive force, the white flames slicing through the red aura with ease. Aragon felt as though a weighty force crashed against his sword, vibrations coursing through his grip and into his very bones.
Unable to maintain his hold, his sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.
Aragon's hand tingled with the lingering sensation of the impact, and his mind reeled in disbelief.
Frantically, Aragon retrieved his sword, but his energy waned.
He could no longer summon the continuous strikes, and the old man appeared untouched, unyielding, and devoid of weariness.
