"Boy, your weapon's got the spine of a wet noodle. It looks like it's about to snap."
The warping of the War Scythe hadn't escaped Rhydan's eyes. As a High Lord of this realm, he would have been blind to miss it.
Orion frowned, sheathing the scythe and drawing the greatsword, Doomscourge, from his hip.
It was baffling. By all rights, Doomscourge was a tier below the War Scythe in raw power. The Scythe was an ancient relic; the sword, while legendary, was merely a weapon of war. Yet, Doomscourge held its form perfectly against the pressure of this world, while the relic had buckled.
Orion couldn't fathom why the artifact's quality had degraded, but the middle of a duel was no place for contemplation.
"I have other steel," Orion said.
He leveled the greatsword, adopting a thrusting stance. In his hands, the blade would serve as his spear. Once a warrior mastered the essence of combat, the specific tool became secondary; the lethality lay in the wielder, not the iron.
