Rumi's sword trembled with every step she took. Her movements were fast, sharp, like a shadow dancing in the glow of the altar. In an instant, she leapt forward, striking down the first warrior spirit with a Pierce—a perfectly precise, straight thrust. The tip of her blade pierced through its chest, splitting the shadowy figure before it burst apart into a cloud of black mist that scattered into the air.
"Kuh…" Rumi drew a deep breath, straightening her posture once more. Her eyes stayed forward, unwavering and resolute.
But the wicked monk's smile only widened. He wasn't the least bit surprised that his summoned spirit had been destroyed. On the contrary, it was as if he had been waiting for this very moment. "Excellent," he said, his voice calm yet dripping with scorn. "That proves you really are a true swordswoman. But…" he raised his black staff and slammed it hard against the ground—thud! "You didn't think I'd just sit back and watch, did you?"
