"Damn... what a troublesome skill," Lein muttered, his jaw tightening. He hated enemies who fought like this—silent, sudden, and deadly—especially when their strength surpassed his own.
Ugh...
The scene kept repeating. One by one, his clones were cut down, sliced in two by invisible strikes.
[Your Clone has died!]
[Your Clone has died!]
...
Lein clenched his teeth, holding back the burning anger in his heart. "Damn it! Stop!" he screamed internally, but the relentless attacks continued. He had to think of something, fast. His determined eyes scanned the void, searching for a clue.
"Hope this works," he whispered, gripping the fan tightly in his hand.
Lein commanded his clones to transform into swords and vanish back into his Spatial Ring. However, not all of them disappeared. A hundred clones remained, teleporting toward Lein using the Vortex Plate, surrounding him.