The sword pierced flesh, and fresh blood sprayed across the icy plains, dyeing the moonlight with crimson amidst the pallor.
Through his unparalleled martial prowess honed from years of warfare, Gallaron evaded all attacks from the Werewolf Ralph, claws, and fangs alike, and the chains writhing like a riotous swarm of snakes could only leave a layer of frost on his skin.
In their first clash, Ralph was utterly defeated. Gallaron's Blood Sword nearly split his back along his spine, slicing until the diagonally angled blade struck against sturdy bone, where the fissure finally stopped.
Even with the blessing of mysterious powers, Ralph still quickly fell into disadvantage at their first encounter.
"Hehe... hehehe... hahaha..." As black energy stitched his gaping wound, the Werewolf's throat issued a chilling laughter. Although he was the one injured, the expression under Ralph's fur suggested he felt like a victor.
