Aegon was annoyed.
No — more than that — he was infuriated.
He wasn't perfect… no human on Earth was perfect.
Everyone had their own flaws and things they excelled at.
He was a genius with the sword — that much was undeniable — but even so… where did this boy come from?
He was younger than him, maybe by a year or two, but still so infuriating.
How was he able to match his movements so easily, without even using a style?
He was just relying on raw swordsmanship with a bit of aura, yet he was countering him, a Prince who was pushing his aura to the absolute limit.
It was disgraceful.
It was disgraceful to the Royal name!
Aegon's aura flared outward, burning wildly like an untamed flame.
Blood began to drip from his ears and nose, but he didn't care.
He hadn't mastered this next art — he knew the risks — but his father had once said it was the most erratic, the most deadly of the royal techniques.
