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... downwards arc. The only thing he had struck was air.

“Gruuh…?” The barbarian stared quizzically at Pram. He hadn’t cut so much as a single hair on his head. A glint of silver was now jutting out from the wooden wall behind Pram. Something sharp with the silhouette of a crescent curve. The barbarian snapped his neck down to look at the glaive in his hands. Except, it wasn’t a glaive anymore—the blade was cut clean off. He was left with a wooden rod.

Pram raised his rapier. “Shall we ...

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