A sudden gust of wind brushed through the forest as Aamir raised his head, blood still dripping from his lip. His eyes locked onto the man who had struck him just moments ago.
The enemy stood calmly on a thick tree branch, his black and silver armor shining under the broken rays of sunlight peeking through the canopy. Behind him, a sea of soldiers—nearly three times larger than Aamir's unit—stood in silence, their presence like an overwhelming wave ready to crash.
One of Aamir's soldiers gasped.
"Commander... look at his clothing!"
Another added, voice trembling,
"He's the Jack of Navarra... also known as the Copymaster!"
Aamir wiped the blood from his chin and looked up.
"Copy...master?"
"Yes, Commander!" the soldier continued. "They say he copies the fighting style of whoever he faces. You can't beat him with your usual moves. Once he learns them... he strikes back with something of his own and ends it."
A slow smile crept across Aamir's face.
