Greg swung his sword once more with raw ferocity, the blade slicing the air with a sharp whistle. This time, however, Rebecca didn't dodge. She remained rooted, unmoving—her expression calm, almost serene.
"What's wrong, buddy?" Greg muttered to Heaven Defier, tightening his grip with a frustrated growl. He poured his strength into the strike, willing the sword to obey. But it resisted him, like a beast refusing to bite its master's old friend.
The blade quivered, its edge trembling in midair, just inches from Rebecca's neck. It refused to descend.
A flicker of emotion crossed her face—a mixture of amusement and something more tender. "It seems," she said softly, "you haven't forgotten an old friend completely."
Greg's jaw clenched. "If you won't help me, I don't need you." His words cut colder than steel. With a forceful jerk, he released the weapon, letting Heaven Defier fall to the ground, its clatter echoing like a dying heartbeat.
