Trafalgar stood at the edge of the ship, boots planted firm against the deck as he stared down into the ocean. The shadow beneath the surface was growing clearer with every passing second—vast, slow, patient. It circled just below the waves, as if it knew there was no need to rush.
Maledicta had been summoned for a while now, resting in his right hand. His grip around the hilt was steady, knuckles pale, mana flowing into the blade in a quiet, constant stream. He wasn't trembling. If anything, he felt… focused.
'Yeah,' he thought dryly. 'Maybe I really do have balls that are too big for my own good.'
He didn't fool himself. This wasn't bravado for the sake of it. Trafalgar genuinely wanted to know where he stood now—how much he'd grown. He was in Flow Rank, the fourth core. Stronger than ever. Faster. With deeper reserves of mana and better control than the last time he'd fought something truly dangerous.
And this would be his first real test at this level.
