Instead, the masked disciple moved his hands.
The motion was subtle—small enough to be mistaken for habit rather than intent. His wrist shifted close to his body in quick, economical patterns, There was no surge of energy , nothing dramatic enough to demand immediate alarm.
And yet several elders noticed at once.
Not because of what manifested—but because of how controlled the movement was.
Hand Seal, One elder muttered aloud, drawing everyone attention, every elder eyes sharpened instentenly shifting again at below arena.
Behind the smooth surface of the mask, the disciple's lips curved faintly, tension easing from his posture as though the preparation had already concluded.
"Elemental Technique — Mist Poison."
The words were spoken softly, almost idly, carrying no force beyond their meaning. His shoulders relaxed the moment the technique was released, as if the most difficult part had already passed.
