Elowen stared at the woman standing on the grass.
Confusion clouded her mind.
This figure looked like the little girl from the dungeon. The black hair was the same. The white dress was similar.
But she looked older. Taller.
And the aura surrounding her was entirely different.
The little girl in the dungeon had been indifferent. She had been bored.
This woman was cold. She felt like a glacier that had existed since the dawn of time.
Elowen's eyes darted to her broken sword lying in the dirt.
The cut was perfectly smooth.
It was impossible. No physical blade could slice through mana-reinforced steel like that.
Fear began to creep into Elowen's heart. It was a cold, slithering sensation.
She remembered the warnings of her master.
Run.
But her pride held her feet in place. She was a noble. She was a genius.
She looked at the woman's empty hands.
'She has no weapon,' Elowen analyzed frantically.
'She cut the sword with magic. It must be a wind blade. Or a spatial cut.'
