Osiris lunged at me with terrifying speed—his fist already in front of my face before I could blink.
If I'd hesitated even a second, that punch would've shattered my skull. But instinct took over—my legs sprang back just in time.
Damn. The old man wasn't bluffing. No wonder they called him the North Tempest.
I gripped my sword with both hands and struck forward, trusting my body to do the work.
In that moment, I was sure the hit would land.
But like a snake, he twisted and sidestepped, letting the blade graze past harmlessly. He was toying with me—dodging like it was child's play.
My strike had been humiliatingly ineffective.
Then, like a seasoned fighter in a ring, he spun and launched a kick. I took off into the air to avoid it.
"You little punk!" Osiris spat. "Pulling out your tricks again, huh?"
"Seriously, how old are you?" I taunted. "You fight too damn well for a grandpa."
