The piece of Chain Armor protecting his knee was sliced clean through.
The edges of the cut were a strange, grayish-black color, like ash left behind by a fire.
Dark red blood welled up from the wound, and a wave of intense, tingling pain made goosebumps erupt across Colin's skin.
If the Greave on his calf hadn't slightly deflected the enemy's blade, his leg would have been hacked clean off!
As he willed his Armor to bring the straw of his Potion Bag to his lips, Colin scanned the area.
All five members of the team were wounded. Their injuries were similar to his—a single, vicious slash. The Ghost had vanished, reappearing at Ale's side.
Colin pieced together what had just happened.
'The Ghost must have teleported to each of us in an instant,' he thought, 'striking each person once. That's the only way it could have wounded the entire party at once.'
