Whoosh! Whoosh!
Inside the blood-red palace, John charged forward with his sword, looking like a deranged maniac. Each strike was filled with immense hatred, and the speed of his attacks grew faster and faster, accompanied by deafening sonic booms. The trajectory of his sword was nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye.
Every slash carried a power greater than the one before, like wave after wave crashing relentlessly. It was clear that, in his obsession to surpass Owen in every way, he had painstakingly honed his swordsmanship.
But despite his significant improvement, Owen remained steadfast, employing a simple strategy of overwhelming power. Each of his strikes was solid and forceful, disrupting John's subsequent attacks.
From a distance, it appeared as if John's hands, tightly gripping the bone sword, had become two long whips, swinging frantically and creating deafening gusts of wind as they left behind countless afterimages.
