105. The Fall of Red Claw

105. The Fall of Red Claw

The night air crackled with tension as Eryndor stepped forward, his silver-white hair swaying with the weight of impending battle. His sharp blue eyes locked onto Red Claw, who stood bloodied yet defiant, his fangs bared in raw frustration. Merylin, clutching her wound, stood at his side, her breathing ragged but her resolve unshaken.

Red Claw twirled his dagger between his fingers and sneered. "You expect to win, boy? Without magic, without power? I have to admit your swordmanship is above average but it's just that."

Eryndor's expression remained unreadable. His muscles coiled like a panther ready to strike. "Power isn't just magic. It's skill, discipline, and knowing when to strike." Compared to the old elf he had gone up against many times this was nothing.