Energy soared around his legs. Miniature black sparks dancing across blue reflections could be seen in it. Mentally, Hadjar attached the imaginary black blade, located somewhere in the depths of his soul, to his real one. That very instant, wisps of black fog began to emanate from Mountain Wind.
He imagined two leaves falling on Guram’s and Glen’s necks. His two swings were so quick it appeared as if Hadjar had only swung his blade once.
“Falling Leaf!”
The sword, so heavy that it could’ve crushed the chest of a weak practitioner with ease, created a stream of wind that launched the attackers away from Hadjar. They scattered several yards away. The weakest ones landed in puddles of their own blood as long, deep wounds, inflicted by invisible blades, spread across their bodies.
Hadj
