Against enemies wrapped head to toe in armor, finesse was a luxury.
Force—and timing—were what mattered.
A shove was more than enough.
I let a lazy smile curl across my lips and tilted my chin at them.
"Did you really think armor would save you?" I asked lightly. "Or was the plan to bore me to death?"
The Dullahans reacted a heartbeat too late.
Steel screamed as they lunged, realizing—far too suddenly—that they weren't the hunters here.
I saw everything.
The rise of shoulders before a swing.
The shift of weight before a thrust.
The minute tremor in their grips that betrayed hesitation.
Greatswords. Maces. Spears.
Their paths were painfully obvious.
—Crunch.
A greatsword came down with all its weight behind it, splitting stone where I'd been standing a moment earlier. The ground caved, shards flying—but I was already gone.
—Whoosh.
