The sun had not yet broken the edge of the sea. Darkness lingered over the coral-clad Sea Ancestral Temple.
But within one of the isolated stone chambers, Kent was wide awake.
He stood bare-chested in the courtyard, his body drenched in sweat under the pale-blue moonlight. His breath was steady, but his arms were shaking slightly—not out of fear, but exhaustion. In front of him, planted upright like a defiant tower, stood the mighty black mace Neela had given him. The iron cylinder at its end was still quaking from the last swing.
"Again," Kent muttered under his breath.
With a grunt, he grasped the long handle, circulated his inner mana, and spun.
The mace howled as it cut through the salty air. Despite its massive weight, it danced like a feather in Kent's hands—a feather carved from thunder.
Boom!
A deep crater split the stone floor.
The momentum of the strike reverberated through his bones. Kent gasped and then smiled.
