Elysia refused to accept defeat.
Her breathing was heavy, her wrist still tingled from where Malvoria had twisted it, but the sting of losing burned far worse than any physical ache.
She could still hear Malvoria's smug voice in her head—Better than last time, but still not good enough.
Elysia hated that voice.
She gritted her teeth, her mind racing. Malvoria had already stepped back, confident in her victory, expecting Elysia to simply accept her loss like she had before.
But not this time.
Not again.
With a sharp intake of breath, Elysia moved.
Her sword was still on the ground, but she didn't need it. Malvoria was tall, stronger, faster—but Elysia was quick, and she knew how to use surprise.
Before Malvoria could react, Elysia lunged—aiming not with a weapon, but with her bare hands.
The gathered soldiers gasped.
For a brief moment, she thought it would work.
