Ghizlan leaned against the wooden hull of the transport ship, his breath coming in gasps. The dark aura surrounding the obsidian blade flickered and sputtered, completely struggling to maintain its form as the commander's internal mana network began to collapse from blood loss.
Iron-Scale did not rush the execution or direct hit. He kept his daggers raised, his draconic eyes locked on his opponent, fully anticipating a desperate final counterattack.
"You fight with an efficiency I have not seen since the early purges," Ghizlan rasped, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the splintered planks. He tightened his grip on his sword one last time. "But efficiency alone does not win wars."
Ghizlan pushed off the hull with a sudden burst of speed, sweeping the obsidian blade in a desperate, wide arc aimed directly at Iron-Scale's neck.
