Another voice whispered:
"I know that family… Daryl comes from a lineage of monsters. They train from childhood. Real battlefield training."
Everyone stared.
Rowan stood calmly in the center of the field.
One hand in his pocket.
The other casually blocking every one of Daryl's attacks.
Like it was nothing.
And that was when fear finally crept into Daryl's eyes.
"Well, I don't frown on winning," Rowan said calmly, his eyes steady.
"I won't let anyone look down on me, so I won't lose pitifully."
Daryl didn't pause. He slashed again and again—slash, slash, slash—each strike aimed to overwhelm.
But Rowan blocked every single attack. Effortlessly.
Daryl stepped back, panting, gripping his sword tightly. His aura flared slightly as he tried to catch his breath.
"What the hell is going on?" he muttered.
"From a young age, I've been told I'm outstanding… I'm rare, elite… yet… this is the first time someone my age can go toe-to-toe with me."
