"He did that… with a simple swing of his sword?" Dionysus asked, leaning forward, his lips curling into an intrigued smile.
HIs eyes narrowed. As a god, his sight was sharper than any mortal's—keen enough to trace even the quickest flickers of movement. And yet, even with his divine perception, Nathan's sudden step seemed almost to vanish from existence. One moment he was there, sword in hand, and in the next, he had already moved—far too fast for the gathered humans, let alone the gladiators, to comprehend.
The blade never truly struck flesh. It was merely a wave, a motion so deceptively casual it seemed dismissive, but the result was anything but. Dozens of gladiators were sent hurtling backward, their armored bodies crashing into one another and slamming against the dirt and stone with bone-jarring force.
Gasps rippled across the stands.
But as Dionysus watched, his expression turned from intrigue to puzzlement. Something about the scene didn't fit.
