The "man" was stronger and deadlier, but Aysling was faster and more agile.

Yet they kept exchanging blows—she dodging or blocking, while he attacked, targeting her weak spots relentlessly. However, only Aysling bore wounds, and she had noticed something troubling.

Her breathing was labored. Her arms ached as she wielded the heavy knives, stretching the chain to try and entangle his feet—without success. She was tiring. Meanwhile, he seemed completely unaffected, as though his power was limitless.

During a frontal strike, the "King" aimed the blazing tip of his sword directly at her belly.

Aysling quickly crossed both blades in front of her, intercepting the attack, but the heat from his weapon scorched her skin, searing with unbearable pain.

This time, he didn't retreat as before. He pressed harder, trying to force the flaming blade toward her stomach—where their pup slept, protected only by her trembling hands and fading strength.

Her entire body quivered from the effort, her arms s