The grand courtyard of the Farrow estate buzzed with the cacophony of battle. Soldiers shouted commands, steel clashed against steel, and the sharp tang of blood filled the air. At the center of the chaos, Lyra Steele advanced with the grace of a predator, her sword gleaming in the midday sun. Her every step was confident, deliberate, and precise, a stark contrast to the frenzied skirmish surrounding her.
Lyra's blade lashed out in a silver arc, disarming one Farrow soldier with a swift motion and forcing another to retreat. Her Battle Aura, a shimmering golden hue, rippled around her like a protective shield, amplifying her strikes with an almost otherworldly force. The soldiers and martialists loyal to the Farrow Family hesitated when they saw her approach, their fear palpable. She was a Master Martialist, and even the boldest among them couldn't deny that she was a force to be reckoned with.