The world seemed to come to a halt for Damien.
The noise of the crowd, the rustle of leaves in the wind, even the faint buzz of mana in the air—everything was drowned out by silence.
A silence so thick, it pressed in on his eardrums.
Within that stillness, Damien's mind accelerated like a storm behind a glass wall—processing information at an inhuman pace. Every neuron in his brain fired like lightning, every twitch of muscle, every arc of energy around Hugo registered in precise detail.
Before him, Hugo's fist closed the distance with blinding speed, cloaked in tendrils of yellow lightning that crackled and hissed through the air. The young man's brows were furrowed with concentration, eyes cool with resolve—but Damien's gaze didn't lock onto the fist.
It locked onto the soul behind the strike.
There it was.
Determination. Pride. A trace of bitterness.
But no killing intent.
None.
