The setting sun cast a warm, golden hue over the rolling hills, illuminating Jafad’s silhouette as he stood unmoving, sword in hand. The obsidian blade gleamed faintly in the fading light, its dark surface absorbing the ambient energy of the world around it. The air around him was still, charged with anticipation, as though even nature itself awaited his next move.
Jafad shifted his weight slightly, adjusting his grip on the sword. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the slight ache from hours of relentless practice. His breathing was steady but deep, each exhale carrying away his frustration—at least temporarily.
"Blood Drop," he whispered, his voice almost reverent.
The technique was a legend in itself, the pride of the Brooks family's Omega Sword Manual. It was not just a skill
