Zaber walked in silence.
His footsteps barely touched the soil, producing almost no sound—as though he were gliding rather than stepping. The forest gradually thinned. Though the smell of smoke from behind had slowly faded, the scent of blood and ash still clung stubbornly to his clothes.
As he moved forward, his thoughts flowed in chaotic streams.
This battle…
He analyzed it instinctively.
"I've become considerably better," he thought with cold detachment.
Soul power. Reaction speed. Bodily control. All noticeably stronger.
There were several wounds: a gash across his shoulder, a dull ache beneath his ribs, a cut on his leg, minor tremors in the muscles from smaller injuries. None of them slowed him down. On the contrary.
Right now… right now he was in the best condition of his life.
Zaber did not deny it.
"I'm ready for the fights in Divorn," the calm realization settled in his mind.
It was not arrogance. It was conclusion.
A soft movement pressed against his chest.
