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The Blind Swordsman.

A tragedy... An abrupt departure... Death... And rebirth. Pain, rage, struggle, and blood honed a sword. A sword sharp enough to sever through reality and reveal what lies beyond. It unveiled something, Or rather, someone, incomprehensible and unprecedented.... A being who seems to weave the threads of fate. Does he truly exist, or is he merely a manifestation of another's will? If he does exist, what purpose does he serve? Is there really a purpose, or is it just another will imposed upon him? If it is another's will, can he defy it? Can he turn his sword against his creator, A being who literally writes his reality? Or will he be consumed by the abyss from which his power flows, Forever lost in the shifting void of his own making?

_Eshwar_ · realistisch
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276 Chs

Spar

Fleta stood in a boxing stance as she glared at the training dummy in front of her. It was made out of resources found in deep mines and in monsters, demonized(s), and demons; the mana embedded dummy was harder to be damaged even by a [B+] ranked hunter.

So an, approximated, [D] ranked hunter such as Fleta, wouldn't be able to damage it, not so easily.

WHOOSH!

She punched up at the training dummy's head, which was slightly taller than her, with her right hand and struck out a follow up attack almost instantly, punching at the centre of the dummy's chest.

THUNG!

After that, she continued to punch at the dummy without halting, making the dummy produce dull metallic silvery thungs, as if they were hit by something strong and blunt.

Seconds later, a frustrating feeling of her prey not moving welled up within her, and with a sharp and strong punch, she stopped punching at the dummy anymore because she felt like it was a waste of time.