The sword strike streaked across the air like a bolt of lightning, reaching its target in a mere blink.
"Ding——!"
A sharp, metallic clang reverberated through the air, accompanied by undulating waves of spiritual energy. Suddenly, a figure materialized in front of Lord Sproul, parrying the blow with a long, black sword.
The mysterious defender, clad entirely in black, was none other than the renowned "Sword Master," Il.
The thwarted assailant executed a nimble backflip, landing gracefully on the ship's wooden deck.
Adorned in a gleaming silver chainmail shirt, the young woman wielded a slender, silver rapier. Her eyes, cold and impassive as a frozen lake, betrayed no emotion.
"Sword Master" Il faced her with a grave expression, his grip on his sword's hilt trembling ever so slightly. The thrust she had delivered was precisely aimed at a critical weakness in his stance, narrowly missing a potentially fatal blow.