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A Dull Victory

Through the folly of shadows, the black-eyed man vanished as the Dragonheart's fist penetrated the air with ferocious force, unleashing a blast of draconic force that carved through the soil before him. The strike itself caused the wind to crack like the bellowing roar of a winged beast, coalescing fallen leaves into a spiral.

Amon warped behind the scale-clad Dragonheart, emerging from the shadows cast on the ground as he swung his daggers towards the neck of his opponent.

CLANG.

For the first time, the recruit killer found his own blood running cold as his killing strike failed completely with his sturdy, steel blades bouncing right off of the Dragonheart's scales.

Unlike before, hardly a scratch was etched into the scales, digging perhaps not even an inch deep as if attempting to slice a plate of steel with a butterknife.

"That's concerning," Amon said with a small smile.

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