Chapter 250: A Blade That Doesnt Flash ‘Danger? Would Never Reach Me! (2/2)

Marni thought about it and realized that it was reasonable.

The craziness of the Players would eventually be exposed to the key characters of Lancaster anyway. He could just overlook this one…

***

Since both sides were convinced that it was going to be a one-sided fight, neither opted to warm-up seriously and simply went ahead to the courtyard for their duel.

That being said, Gerald found Mufasa’s head mask exceedingly silly and disrespectful towards his muscle, and had every intention to show him what’s what in the duel.

As a knight of the city watch and provided elite education as a child, Gerald knew very well about the importance of staying calm in battle.

Even if he had not reached the state of perfect emptiness, he wouldn’t be easily provoked by any opponent.

But for some reason, he would be fuming inwardly whenever he looked into the dead-fish eyes of the flatfish head mask Mufasa was wearing. It burned his heart, surging as an impulse to break Mufasa’s face.

Driven by that impulse, he attacked just after testing and observing Mufasa for a brief moment.

Still, it was meaningless.

All his blows would be parried with relative ease no matter how he attacked.

He even had the space to say things like ‘so noob, not even ‘Danger’ is showing up’.

Although Gerald didn’t understand what that meant, it was clearly a taunt.

The knight couldn’t help quickening the rhythm of his attack. Sparks flew as their weapons collided in loud clanging sounds, as if a blacksmith was hammering away on steel.

Be that as it may, he couldn’t even reach his opponent’s sleeve no matter how many times he swung his sword.

Gerald never had a battle like this-everything he did was useless and a waste of strength.

“Is parrying all you could do?!” He yelled in irritation. “Coward!”

That was when his sword was knocked out of his hands and himself sent flying by a kick, rolling twice on the ground before crashing into a wall, his eyes closed even as he gasped for air.

“Yield?” The flatfish asked.

“Over my dead body!”

Gerald, who had become calmer because of the pain earlier felt his blood rushed up to his head once again-he rushed back into the duel as soon as he picked up the sword beside him.

But he was beaten even quicker this time.

His sword was flicked away handily, and his opponent’s blade was sticking just over his neck like a viper in the next split second.

“To be fair, your swordcraft is not bad.” The flatfish’s tone did not change at all—there wasn’t even panting, as if the duel had been an unnoticeable warm up. “However, it must only have been honed by constant training day after day, along with sparring with seniors and masters, yes? Even so, a blade that was never refined by approaching death, pain, blood, resolve and perseverance would never reach me.”

“Peasant… How many times did you die, then?!” Gerald exclaimed in distress.

“How many times I died? I forgot.” Flatfish sheathed his sword and calmly replied. “Who would remember how many slices of bread they’ve eaten?”