The Sentinel did not defend.
It merely lowered its sword, letting it sag slightly at its side, and allowed the incoming blade to crash into its body. The impact forced it to stagger back several heavy steps. A clean, searing line tore across its metal armor, as if some fiery hand from within was clawing its way out.
The sword glanced off and spun away into the void of the citadel.
Auren didn't hesitate. He grabbed another sword—and flung it.
Then another. And another.
In seconds, five blades streaked through the air, howling toward the Sentinel like hounds on a scent.
And still—it didn't move.
It stood there, statuesque and unflinching, letting the swords collide with it one after another. Sparks exploded with each impact, raining brilliant showers across the glassy floor. The blades crudely carved into its armor, gouging deep, jagged wounds into its frame before clattering away.
