Even before a single blow could land, the flow of time stops.
The sensation of tearing through the heavy resistance of the air presses on the nerve endings, and the mana that had been curled up for so long twitches upon smelling the longed-for scent of blood and flesh. It was the instinct of a warrior.
I had endured for too long. Even though it was to preserve my body, after the steam surging from my heart heated my brain, it became a story with no meaning at all.
Because there was no rationality left to make such calculations.
When my fist strikes Dalton’s face, the man’s face distorts centered on his nose. Even before the blood could splatter, his body was already flying through the air.
A clean direct hit.
It wasn’t a level of power that Dalton, who was merely a weakling, could withstand. Probably, with this single blow, the modest goal of ‘subduing Dalton’ could be achieved.
But this much…