A crash followed by a sharp crack rang out in the middle of the forest. Birds scattered from the branches in a frenzy of wings, fleeing the explosive echo of the impact.
A young man staggered back violently, his feet tearing up the earth in a desperate attempt to slow his momentum. His soles sank into the soft ground, carving deep grooves before he finally skidded to a halt, panting.
"You really trying to kill me, you bastard?" he spat. His brown skin gleamed with sweat, his bare back burned under the sun, and his locked braids were hastily tied at the back with what looked like a strip of liana.
That young man was Dylan. He still clutched a wooden stick — his training weapon — already splintered from the previous clash. Facing him, Julius remained unbothered, barely acknowledging the mishap.
