Patriarch's POV:
Time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
The cursed skill [Blackheart]—my final trump card, the forbidden blade of the Blackmore bloodline—has only eight seconds of life remaining. Eight seconds of hellish power. Eight seconds to defy fate.
My heart is on fire. Every beat sends a jolt of agony across my ribs, and my blood feels like molten iron. But I push forward. Not because I want to, but because I must.
I am the Patriarch of Blackmore.
If this is to be my last stand, then so be it. But I will not fall without ensuring Princess Aria lives—and without dragging at least one of these Overlord bastards into the grave with me.
I lunge forward—nothing but a blur of shadow and fury—my cursed aura swirling like a tempest. I meet Nosef and Lucius in a deadly dance of steel and death.
In this form, I can match them.
