With the battlefield finally cleared, Martin slowly walked toward the center where his Silver Swords were hovering in a quiet formation.
His Black Liquid Clones stood, untouched and intact.
There was no visible scratch on them or on him.
He sat down cross-legged on the ground.
He smiled slightly to himself.
"I have lost none of the Black Liquid Clones, and Silver Swords..."
He looked at his reflection in the shiny edge of one of the blades.
"I myself did not take damage..."
There was a brief silence.
The air was quiet now, only thick with residual heat and magic energy.
He leaned back a little and allowed himself a full breath.
"All things considered, this is a great battle... and I have come to understand that there are things out there which will still give me the rush of battle... even without having one percent of my total power at all."
It wasn't the scale of destruction or the speed of victory that gave Martin his joy.
It was the opposition.
