The stag Damon rode was aggressive, just as expected from a beast trained in the Moonglades—bred for elite units that rode into battle without hesitation.
The assassins sent to kill him had been riding this beast and had chased him without fear or rest.
Naturally, they didn't shy away from war.
Damon raised his hand—and brought his sword down.
Dark Blade.
A wave of sword energy, channeled through his mana, ripped through the air. It slashed clean through an orc, cutting him in half.
[You have slain Turkan Stringthigh.]
His mastery of the Brightwater sword techniques had grown.
With that same motion, Damon waved his hand, black flames racing up his blade. The sword darkened further, then with another sweep, the flames spilled across the grass. They twisted, turned red—and ignited.
The mount of the dead orc, which had been moments from pouncing, was caught in the dark fire and incinerated.
