Six lycans remained.
They tightened their formation after the shooters fell, circling warily, rain dripping from fur and armor alike. Their confidence hadn't vanished, but it had shifted, sharpened into something more cautious now that the threat behind Trafalgar and Karon was gone.
Two of them advanced together.
Not by plan, just by instinct, stepping into the same line as they pushed forward, shoulders nearly brushing as they tried to overwhelm through pressure rather than finesse.
Trafalgar saw it immediately. He drew in a measured breath and let mana flow.
Pure, dense energy wrapped around Maledicta, coating the blade in a tight, controlled sheath. The rain hissed faintly as droplets touched the edge and vanished. The weight in his grip changed, heavier and sharper at the same time, the sword humming with restrained force.
Then he moved.
