Ethan sidestepped Christel's fiery slash, the broadsword blazing with heat as it cut through the air. His expression was no longer the mocking, carefree one he'd worn earlier—it had turned cold and calculating, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the grove.
Before Christel could recover from her missed strike, Ethan moved with startling speed, closing the gap between them in the blink of an eye. His fist crashed into her chest, the sound of the impact echoing like thunder. The force of the blow sent her skidding backward, her boots carving deep furrows in the earth as she fought to stay upright.
Christel gasped, clutching at her chest as pain radiated through her ribcage. Her red hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, and her dark skin was flushed from the exertion. But her green eyes burned with fierce determination. She straightened, using her sword to steady herself, and glared at Ethan.
