.
"Your ability is control, then?" the leader of the Rock Fighters asked, while the old second-rank master seemed to struggle to remain standing.
The wind moved slowly across the red land between them, carrying dust and the faint scent of burned soil from battles that had taken place not long ago. The old man's robe fluttered weakly around his thin frame. His body trembled slightly, not entirely from age but from the immense pressure hanging in the air.
A silence stretched between them.
The Rock Fighters behind their leader were frozen in place like statues, their bodies rigid, their eyes alive yet unable to move. Invisible lines seemed to connect them to the old master like the strings of a puppet show.
"Yes… as you can see," the old man whispered unsteadily. "I am not suited for direct combat like young men such as yourselves… my apologies."
The Rock Leader smiled faintly.
