"I'll have to apologize to Jet for not listening to his final words."
Noah sheathed his blade as he heaved a sigh, a bit of mist leaking out of his lips. He cast his gaze on Britta, who remained silent as she lay on the ground.
It would be a lie if he said he didn't feel bad for her.
Not only had she lost to him, but her entire resolve—the strength she painstakingly mustered so she could raise her blade—was rendered useless by him.
"You shouldn't feel too bad." Noah mumbled as he stared off into the distance.
Despite Britta bleeding, he didn't pay much attention to her. He already knew she wouldn't die or suffer permanent damage from her injury.
He also had some attention on her, so she wouldn't be able to catch him by surprise.
'Not that it would happen, though…' One look at Britta was enough to tell Noah that her will to fight was gone.
He had utterly broken her fighting spirit.
