Valentine felt something he rarely experienced in combat.
Frustration.
His calm, serene expression began to crack. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed.
This doesn't make sense. The sanctuary should have him suppressed. My divine techniques should be overwhelming a demon-type creature. I should be winning. I SHOULD BE WINNING.
But I'm not even scratching him. Every attack fails. Every technique is countered. It's like fighting someone who knows exactly what I'm going to do before I do it.
His tactical calm began giving way to something more primal. Something that decades of disciplined training had suppressed but never fully eliminated.
Anger.
Twenty minutes into the one-sided exchange, Valentine's serene expression had completely disappeared, replaced by visible frustration and mounting rage.
