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The two of them faced each other with their swords raised. They locked eyes, feeling each other out, and then, without a single word needing to be said, they clashed. Valia’s blade came towards Noah like a volley of arrows, as if she was simultaneously attacking from a dozen different points and angles. Noah fended off her attacks, powering through the hindering weight he felt on his limbs, but just barely. Such rapid movement was a challenge, as it felt like he had cinderblocks hanging from his limbs, and an invisible bungee cord linked his blade to his chest, making every reach and swing an ordeal. On the other hand, Valia’s attacks were slower than usual, but clearly, she had regained most of her strength. It wouldn’t be long until she regained her original strength.

“Uh, okay…sure.” I said with little conviction. Carol looked around the island, finally spying what she wanted. She leaned over and grabbed a bottle of olive oil.

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.