The Drevlornian noble was in mid-air, and almost everyone wanted him to fall outside the line.
But Donovan Young refused to fall.
The moment Thane's punch launched him backward, the Drevlorn noble twisted in mid-air.
His boots scraped against the stone. A screech echoed throughout the arena along his gliding path.
The white boundary line came closer and closer.
Luckily, for him, he managed to halt his momentum, barely.
Donovan planted one foot, then the other.
His body lurched violently, but somehow he remained inside the fighting circle.
The crowd erupted. Many had believed the match was already over.
Donovan himself spat blood onto the stone. His stomach felt as though a warhorse had kicked through it.
Pain radiated through every nerve. Yet he stood, straightening his aching body, his body screaming to give out at any moment.
The Drevlorn noble forced his back upright. His breathing had become ragged after the punch.
