In the very next instant, a short, ghostly shadow appeared, by means unknown.
Perhaps it was a form of short-range Shadow Shifting, or a combination of a clever illusion and extreme speed.
It materialized in an instant beside Malok, who lay collapsed on the ground, groaning in agony.
The figure crouched, extending a withered but exceptionally steady finger. It quickly and expertly examined the wound on Malok's arm before glancing at his face, which was contorted with agony and frustration.
A shrill huff sounded, filled with undisguised annoyance and disappointment.
"Idiot! Are you blind? You dare to pick a fight without even sizing up your opponent? Serves you right!"
Though the voice was kept low, it carried clearly to the ears of the few people nearby.
Upon hearing this, Malok fought through the searing pain and humiliation. He struggled to prop himself up with his uninjured arm and bowed his head toward the small figure, his voice hoarse.
