The morning arrived with a biting chill that seemed to settle in the marrow of the bone.
The Novos estate was shrouded in an eerie silence. Servants moved like shadows, while the frogmen guards stood with a new alertness because the previous night's bloodshed at Flower Garden.
In the center of the courtyard, Egon stood alone. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, exposing forearms corded with lean muscle.
He took a long inhale, then exhaled.
"Again," he whispered to the empty air.
He lunged forward, his right palm cutting through the atmosphere in a sweeping arc.
But then, he stopped abruptly.
He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. It was too stiff, too mechanical. Though a faint ripple of mana force shivered through the air and sent fallen leaves skittering across the stone, it lacked the soul of a true Skill application.
It still didn't have enough force to create a devastating impact.
The First Form, Moon Shattering Palm, felt incomplete.
