The copy did not move when Ludwig stepped past it. For a moment it only watched him walk toward the distant destruction, gaze steady and unreadable, like it was weighing him rather than judging him. Then, without warning, it shifted.
Ludwig felt it before he saw it, a subtle displacement in the air behind him, quiet but deliberate, like the street itself had taken a careful breath. He turned just in time to see the copy closing the distance. There was no stance, no declaration of intent, no flare of drama. The attack came cleanly, efficiently, as if the motion had already been decided minutes ago and it was only now being executed.
Ludwig reacted on instinct. His hand moved to Durandal, the blade rising just in time to intercept the strike. Steel met steel with a sharp, controlled impact that echoed down the empty street and died without finding an answer.
