Renard advanced like an unstoppable avalanche, each punch carrying the weight of a sledgehammer.
In contrast, Alistair moved with the wind, dodging, weaving, and countering with strikes that cracked like lightning.
The audience even forgot to blink, afraid they might miss something if they did.
Dust exploded, the air howled, and the training field became a storm-torn battlefield under their feet.
"Too slow!" Alistair barked, ducking beneath Renard's heavy swing before driving an uppercut infused with compressed wind straight into his opponent's jaw.
Renard's head snapped back, the blow rattling his brain.
He took two three steps back, and just as he was about to take his third step, he made sure to plant his foot firmly on the ground before launching a fast jab that grazed the side of Alistair's cheek, drawing blood.
That punch had been thrown subconsciously, and it earned Renard a few precious seconds to breathe.
