Apollo stood still, the sword lowered once more.
The void surrounding him vanished.
Only the Sanctum remained, quiet and heavy.
Behind him, Clark fell to his knees. Sara covered her mouth, without her knowing. Arvain swallowed hard, barely keeping his footing.
No one spoke.
Not even Apollo.
His aura returned to normal; in fact, it became weaker, as it was clear this sword took almost everything he had, but he doesn't seem to care. He was lost in the experience that he just felt.
The wonderful feeling that he felt was too hard to describe in words, as it was kind of an epiphany that let him understand more about his eternal sword rule and let him develop its usage to extreme degrees.
That final slash hadn't been strength. It hadn't been technique.
It had been understanding.
For the first time, he saw his Eternal Sword Rule not as a weapon meant to cut enemies but as a mirror that reflected the truth—and then severed the falsehoods.
The idea made his blood stir.
