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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.

“I am Noah, the Wandering Spirit, and I think I speak on behalf of the crowds when I say that a win by default is in no way satisfying. These people deserve to watch a real fight. I’m sure Reiss is still on the premises. Give me the chance to find him.”

This bounty hunter had spent years doing his job, hunting down criminals like they were beasts and putting his life on the line time and time again, bereft of fear. He had heard plenty of threats before, plenty of warnings about what would happen if he continued his endeavors, and shrugged them off. That said, the man before him was projecting so much hatred, so much sadistic killing intent, that he felt a chill crawl up his spine, a chill he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before. It didn’t matter if the man before him was his target or not. He promptly turned and left, wanting to get as far away from the Knight’s Sheath and this rapacious lunatic as possible. Once he was gone, everyone in the bar applauded Noah’s performance, and he turned and bowed.