LOSS

Eamon felt as though all his paths to retreat were sealed off. No matter where he looked, it felt as though the word death was being written into the skies just for his viewing pleasure.

Except there was no pleasure at all.

Shaken, he quickly solidified the talismans he had been forming. This time, under Leonel's tutelage, he had learned that sometimes offense was the best defense. He couldn't always turtle himself up and expect the best results. He had to do more than that.

Half his talismans were diverted to his defense while the other rushed out... forming shields.

Leonel didn't know what to say when he saw this, but it wasn't his place to try and force Eamon to change too much. In the end. If he couldn't take the steps he needed to himself, then all that was left would be death.

The falling javelins shattered the shields apart. It was hard to even say if they were delayed at all, a rain of silver and gold flooding the area.

Eamon unleashed a low roar that almost sounded much more high pitched than he likely wished for. Even so, it didn't slow his movements.

His hands expanded beneath the power of his talismans. An illusory cloak of palms covering his own until they matched the ones in the sky.

...

Leonel's gaze flickered before a wild grin spread across his face. And for the first time, shock radiated out from the Khafra Patriarch.

Eamon was imitating the runes on Gregwyn's palms!

'I knew it!' Leonel's eyes shone like torches.

How horrible was the environment Eamon was raised in? Setting aside just the living conditions themselves and focusing on Crafting alone, who was there to teach him? Who was there to guide him? How had he even awakened to Dream Force in the first place? Who allowed him to take such a risk.

The answer was obvious: it was Eamon and Eamon alone.

From start to finish, he was responsible for his own growth. If he didn't take his own risks here and there, how could he even catch Leonel's eye to begin with? Just because he didn't take the same risks Leonel would, didn't mean that he was actually a coward, and in a situation where every step of his could lead to a deviation in his foundation that could cost him his life, wasn't it only natural that he was so "cowardly"?

But this was still just the tip of the iceberg.

Eamon had to get used to scrounging up information from tidbits and pieces of materials that were once whole. His deduction reasoning abilities should be some of the best that Leonel had ever seen.

How could the Slayer Legion have any materials to systematically teach him Crafting? Even Leonel had his father leading him step by step. In this regard, Eamon was actually beyond even him.

Such a person... if you displayed such runes and Force Arts so blatantly before his face, how could he not learn to take advantage of them?

...

Gregwyn was taken aback as his javelins were shattered. He thought that he could end the battle with just a single strike, but this useless person had actually managed to block one of his strikes.

Humiliation. A great Humiliation.

Gregwyn's eyes reddened as his Hands of God pulsed with light.

Eamon looked at his own hands, feeling somewhat flustered again. But before he could decide his next move, the next wave of attacks had already come, Gregwyn appearing before him in an instant.

Eamon became even more flustered, striking out with a large palm.

But Gregwyn's own hand shattered it with a single fist, jagged lines of red forming out from the corner of his eyes as Dream Force pooled and fueled his every action.

The fist shuttled through the illusory palm, crushing it and landing on Eamon's own palm.

The sickening sound of cracking bone echoed and Eamon released a howl as he was sent flying backward.

But before he could even fly far, one of Gregwyn's Hands of God slammed down from the sky, squashing him flat.

Blood flew from Eamon's mouth, but his talismans barely managed to keep his body from turning into a meaty pile of flesh and shattered bone.

He tried to push himself up, but the palm didn't retract, pushing him down with even greater force.

One after another, the talismans on his body began to crack. If things continued like this, he would truly become flat.

His mind raced as he tried to come up with new ideas, novel thoughts, anything that could help him turn the tide.

But there was nothing.

He was too weak.

Gregwyn bent down and wrenched Eamon's head up with such force he nearly snapped it. Because the large palm was still pressing down on him, it looked like that was exactly what Gregwyn had wanted to do. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Gregwyn's face twisted with disgust. He couldn't understand how anyone could try so hard for a disgusting example of a man. He couldn't stand the look on Eamon's face, he truly deserved death.

He raised a palm up, ready to cut him down. He didn't plan to allow Eamon even the chance to speak and concede.

But at that moment, a talisman flickered high above, so far that Gregwyn hadn't even noticed it, or else he would have sent his own hands to destroy them.

"I concede."

The talisman spoke with Eamon's voice, and at that moment, the grip Gregwyn had on his hair vanished as he disappeared.

Eamon appeared back in the courtroom-like space, coughing and wheezing out blood.

Leonel caught him, shaking his head. Ultimately, Eamon still had far too little combat experience and he hadn't spent enough time by Leonel's side for that to suddenly change. The reality was that he was lucky to be alive. He was a bit too stubborn and tried to hold on for longer than he should have.

Leonel looked up at the point totals and the close lead flipped as the Khafra Dream Pavilion pulled again.