Northern's grin trembled, caught in an almost perverse amusement.
'...to think he would survive that.'
No matter how much he had held back, a Maelstrom would have been pulverized beneath the mighty punch he'd thrown.
He couldn't help but award Kaelan the trophy he so rightfully deserved.
'This bastard is tough as nails…'
Of course, the young Kejar scion wasn't emerging unscathed. In truth, he looked better off dead than in his current state.
He barely walked—dragging himself forward, his face marred with crimson patches and his jaw painted scarlet. When he parted his lips to grit against the pain, his teeth gleamed red like bloodstained pearls.
His once-pristine armor had vanished. Whether he'd dismissed it or Northern's punch had obliterated it remained unclear. This left him in skintight black underclothes that contoured every edge of his frame, making him appear carved from onyx stone despite his pitiful condition.
