The last chain was shaking violently. Wain could feel it clearly. He was puzzled by what had happened, but he had no time to think about it. He had to fight and win. He had no other choice. Either he or the wyvern would die.
Wain tried once more to bite the wyvern or slash its flesh, but the beast was no longer going to stand for it. The wyvern jerked its neck sharply, and Wain flew aside a few dozen meters with his sword.
He fell into a massive drift of snow, which slowly began to turn red because of Wain's bleeding wound. He should have gotten up and attacked the wyvern again, but Wain was lying on the ground.
Even the fact that the beast was slowly approaching him did not make him budge.
The reason was that when he fell to the ground, he felt, to his surprise, a strange and pleasant chill penetrating him.