The Palm That Commands the World
Leon slowly raised one hand.
His palm opened.
The surrounding Mana responded instantly.
Wind gathered.
The air trembled.
Invisible currents spiraled toward him as if the world itself had suddenly remembered its master. Robes fluttered around his tall frame, the midnight cloth lined with thin amethyst embroidery rippling like waves under a rising storm.
Behind him—
a faint phantom of a massive palm slowly appeared.
It was enormous.
Vast.
Indistinct.
Yet everyone present felt it.
A pressure that seemed capable of covering the heavens themselves.
Leon murmured softly to himself, voice barely louder than the wind brushing the courtyard stones.
"Let's see…"
His purple eyes narrowed slightly.
"…how powerful this Sacred Art truly is."
Under the countless gazes of the academy elders and students—
Leon began to practice the Ultimate Hand Strike.
At first glance, the movement seemed almost laughably simple.
Just a palm.
Slow.
Natural.
