Their swords collided again—but this time, Rowen didn't yield.
The force rebounded, and then—
—WHUUUMMMMM—
A deep, resonant hum rippled out from the clash.
Lucavion's brows twitched—only slightly. He felt it more than heard it.
A vibration. Not of metal—but of will.
Rowen's blade shone faintly—not with mana, but something far older.
The dueling ground hushed.
Not in fear.
But reverence.
From the terrace above, whispers broke loose again—this time shaken, unsure.
"...That sound…"
"That's not mana—what is that?"
"No… it can't be—"
And then it was spoken.
"This is…"
"…the Drayke Family's…"
"…Sword Resonance."
The words struck the air like a bell tolling war.
A phenomenon so rare even among elite swordsmen that it bordered on myth. Not magic. Not technique. It was something deeper—alignment. When blade, breath, and intent moved as one. When the sword didn't just obey the wielder—it answered them.
