Dren manifested his sword with a sharp metallic hiss. The blade shimmered faintly—runes etched along its edge flickered with mana as he pointed it directly at Trafalgar.
"Enough talk."
Trafalgar didn't flinch. He extended his hand, and Maledicta materialized from thin air—her shape condensing into his grip like a living shadow.
They stared at each other.
The fire crackled between them.
Dren lunged first.
A sudden step forward, fast despite his state—his sword arcing down in a diagonal slash aimed at Trafalgar's shoulder.
Trafalgar parried with Maledicta, the impact jarring his wrist. He slid back on the snow-packed ground, boots grinding against the dirt.
'Strong… even weakened.'
Dren came again, this time with a thrust to the ribs.
Trafalgar twisted, narrowly dodging, the tip of the blade grazing his shirt. He pivoted to the left and backed toward the firepit.
"You're running?" Dren spat, circling him.
