Fifteen minutes, that was how long the brutal, high-speed bloodbath had been dragging on.
The center of the ruins was unrecognizable because no pillars stood and no walls remained for the fighters to break.
The plaza had become a pulverized crater of ash and shattered stone, saturated with mixed gold-purple mana.
Hajin stood near the edge of the crater, his chest heaving sharply.
The golden mist no longer poured steadily from his mouth, and it escaped in ragged gasps while every breath sounded wet.
The golden mark that started on the back of his right hand had now reached his shoulder.
Its lines burned with unstable heat, cooking him alive from beneath the skin.
He had taken heavy damage, yet his opponent looked equally close to collapse.
His leather armor was entirely shredded and his left eye swollen shut. A deep jagged cut ran down his ribs where the polearm had caught him during a trade.
The monster looked just as close to collapse beneath its ruined armor.
