Northern barely exerted himself, his body weaving through the air like a phantom wind, dealing devastation with minimal effort.
Yet Northern's "minimal" proved catastrophic for the Behemoth monsters. Their wings shredded like tissue paper under his touch, their massive forms teetering at death's edge before Northern's summons delivered the final blow.
Northern harbored no concerns about gathering talent fragments; kills by his summons counted as his own.
The battle unfolded with unexpected gentleness, the softest confrontation he'd experienced thus far. This softness created a jarring contrast against the oppressive atmosphere of destruction surrounding him.
A nagging sensation crept through Northern's mind—something felt wrong. Like something different was approaching. He could, if desired, employ chaos eyes to glimpse his future, but certain abilities Northern had decided to get comfortable not using because of its cost and some other things.
