Per the natural instincts of an assassin, his daggers naturally slid across the air in search of the dryad's bark neck, but–they did not reach their destination.
"--!"
A wall of layered, intertwined vines rose up between him and the dryad, blocking his attack as his dagger slid across the plantlife.
Continuing, he unleashed a set of slashes, but it didn't seem to make much of a dent in the wall of vines.
It's so thick! Is it regrowing as I cut it? Are more sprouting? Or is there just this many?! He questioned.
Again, his instincts fired off as he jumped back without knowing what was coming–witnessing lances of thickly-twisted vines protruding from the wall, scaled in thorns.
"Still trying to impale me–?!" He yelled out.
There was no doubt that what stood before him was a troublesome opponent, though he felt it was nothing more difficult than the perilous bouts he had overcome before.
