Lance Ice 5

Master responded with a swing of her arm. Arthur parried with a hand, but the ground beneath them shattered from the force.

Arthur and Master were now engaging in melee combat. Every time Master tried to form a spell, they dissipated immediately.

Still, she seemed to be holding her own against Arthur. She had formed a crystalline sword in each of her hands while Arthur had one as well, except a little thinner.

Their ice swords chipped with each block, strike and parry, their broken remnants sparkling from the reflection of the room’s lights. Both of their weapons were formed from ice, yet only Arthur’s conjured sword seemed to break while Master’s sword remained strong.

Despite this disadvantage, however, I could tell that in such close range combat, Arthur had the upper hand. His movements—the ones I could see—were fluid yet unpredictable. Each slash and stab connected into one neverending combination of attacks all the while forming a new sword of ice every time his previous weapon broke. Even from my untrained eyes, I could tell that each of his attacks had meaning, like he was slowly guiding my Master in an elegant dance.