Chapter 138. The Founder’s Legacy

Eryndor’s POV

My father never used magic himself, but I still remember the stories he told. Whenever he faced a special kind of beast, he claimed that as his blade cut into its hide, he would feel a sudden rush—a sort of flash that surged through his body and left him feeling… different. He insisted it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, he said that after each flash, he became sharper, stronger, more alert for a short time before it faded.

“He called out, ‘Eryndor, flash!’” I mimicked, recalling how he urged me to follow his lead. Ever since I was young, I tried to recreate that mysterious sensation. Even when I began hunting werewolves, I practiced with my blade and my mind, waiting for the promised surge. I never caught it—until now.

The moment I plunged the purple-forged sword into Zephyr’s charcoal-black, hardened skin, I felt something stir. His so-called pain-nerve armor offered no protection against the edge of my blade. I drew the sword downward in one fier