Warriors will die if they charge.

Are you here to fight, or to commit sexual harassment?

Marcus was puzzled, but he didn't have time to investigate further, as Hurt's sword came again.

This time, the knight's speed increased significantly. After roughly understanding Marcus's talent for accelerating when hit, he stopped probing and launched a three-hit combo aimed at the throat, heart, and groin.

Each time, the angle is changed at the very last moment before the sword strikes, avoiding the parry.

Marcus's response was crude; instead of retreating, he advanced and used the blade of his sword to deflect the first strike. Hel was too fast and the attack failed, leaving him empty-handed.

He flipped the hilt of the sword over, holding the blade horizontally in front of his chest to block the tip of the sword that was aimed at his heart.

For the third sword strike, he did not choose to block; instead, he used the effect of the speed bump to twist his leg and let the sword tip pierce his inner thigh.

In the brief moment when Het sheathed his sword, he took a large step forward and swung out a wide-arc horizontal slash.

The horizontal slash wasn't fast, but Marcus's excellent reach made the area covered extremely wide. Hurt chose to lean back to dodge, her supple waist pressing down, her long black hair being lifted by the sword's edge and spreading out in the air like a rose bursting open in the night.

"You're playing like you're chopping down trees. A tactic of trading blows won't last long," Hurt commented.

"There's nothing we can do, dockworkers don't have any fancy skills," Marcus said casually, and the second sword followed, a vertical slash from top to bottom, without any technique, just aiming and then forcefully chopping down towards the center of the head.

Hurt sidestepped to the side, her nimble sword leaving a shallow gash on Marcus's thigh. Marcus remained unfazed, continuing to swing his blade, unleashing a barrage of sweeping and slashing attacks.

The knight skillfully dodged each powerful slash, and noticed that the attacks, which should have left fatal wounds, only caused minor scratches on Marcus.

"Your natural skin defense is a unique talent, Mr. Marcus Norfitz, tough enough."

The alluring glint in his violet eyes made Marcus feel nauseous.

"You're pretty good too, you're flexible enough, you can definitely do a lot of positions."

"Want to give it a try? I'm a veteran of countless battles."

"Forget it, I'm afraid I'll catch an STD if I play with you guys."

"I promise I won't, I'm still a virgin." Hutt licked her pink lips, her shy appearance making Marcus roll his eyes helplessly and temporarily stop his attack.

"Friend, we're in a fight, we're battling. Can't we act like tough guys?"

Hurt smiled and concealed his sword behind his back: "Do we have any reason to fight?"

"Hmm..." Marcus pondered for a moment, and it seemed that there really wasn't one.

What is that old bastard Lawson doing? He's been causing trouble for so long and still hasn't come out. I've even gotten several more wounds on my body.

Work-related injuries require additional compensation.

Hurt's purple eyes scanned Marcus up and down, as if he were examining an interesting exhibit.

"What are you looking at?" Marcus noticed the knight's strange gaze and felt a tightness in his anus. He had no interest in effeminate men and was a straight man who would never compromise.

"We have no reason to kill each other." Hert nodded, his tone becoming more serious, losing its previous languid decadence: "You don't want to kill me, and I don't want to kill you. You are Camilla's prey, not mine. I just..."

He paused for a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully.

"Just what?"

"But I rarely see someone like you, taking so many sword blows without uttering a sound." Hurt took a step closer, his voice lowered, as if sharing a secret:

"You know what? Most people start to enjoy the first blow. Some scream, some curse, some beg for mercy, but you do nothing. You just... keep hitting."

Marcus didn't speak, but suddenly felt a strange itch on his wounds, like the antennae of ants gently brushing against him, or like a pair of gentle hands caressing him with their fingertips, making his skin and muscles feel numb.

But isn't this the effect of the troll's regeneration? It's not bleeding anymore, so what's the point of yelling?

Hurt took another step closer: "Your talent is very interesting, with increased speed upon being hit and innate defensive power. This kind of ability is rare among warriors. Have you tried using your talent for anything enjoyable?"

Marcus abruptly took a step back: "Get lost, I have no interest in a pervert like you."

Why are Kuran and Lawson having a tryst in the tent, while I seem to be being targeted by some androgynous pervert?

Damn it, I should have gone in too.

Hurt, who had been rejected, suddenly laughed. This time, his smile was as clear as a white lily in bloom, a smile born purely of curiosity: "In that case, let's continue our sparring, as a way of... returning the favor for what you just said."

"Which sentence?"

"It's flexible enough to be used in many positions." As soon as Hurt finished speaking, the sword hidden behind his back suddenly shot out.

But this time his attack was much more disciplined; he swept his sword forward with both hands, striking precisely the parry that Marcus had hastily raised.

"Your wrist was too tight during that horizontal slash. If you had loosened it a little," Hurt said, flipping the sword so the blade grazed Marcus's collar, "your attack range could have been another hand's width."

"And a stab." Hurt shifted his stance, sliding to Marcus's side, only to be met with a vicious horizontal slash. He smiled, the tip of his sword precisely piercing Marcus's ankle:

"Your hind leg must push off the ground. The power of the sword's thrust comes from the propulsion of your hind leg. Your swordsmanship is clearly in the military style of the Griffin Kingdom. It's practical enough, but not enough."

Marcus gritted his teeth and remained silent despite having his ankle pierced, continuing his attack on Hutt.

"Vertical slash, your shoulder moves first. This makes it easy for your opponent to see the downward posture of your shoulder and know that you are about to make a move. Move your waist first, followed by your shoulder, like swinging a rope. Don't use your arm to swing." Hurt leaned back to dodge Marcus's horizontal sweep, and a few strands of black hair were cut off by the longsword.

Then, like a spring, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, tensed his body abruptly, and used his waist to power his shoulders. With a slight arc, the longsword slid across Marcus's shoulder from the upper right, leaving a thin, long wound less than half a centimeter deep.

Marcus's most profound impression of this battle was that he had gained experience from his wounds. That damned pervert always used sweet talk to distract him, forcing him to change his sword-wielding habits.

Although, these distractions do seem to have some effect.

Fielding was an excellent militia leader and a master at training new recruits, but his swordsmanship was far inferior to that of Hurt, who treated his sword as a third arm.

New wounds kept appearing on his body, and the blood made Hutt excited. He continued to fight the tireless warriors, disregarding his own exhaustion.

The androgynous knight, fluttering around the warrior like an elegant yet deadly purple-black butterfly, her longsword sharp and alluring, the delicate fragrance emanating from her thin lips captivating, playing a solitary waltz in the darkness.

A thin layer of bloodstains covered the damp surface as she danced a fiery dance, splattering the blood clinging to the tip of the sword across every corner.

But after half an hour of strenuous exercise, Hutt's breathing became rapid, and his eyes gleamed with a captivating allure.

He repeatedly inflicted wounds on Marcus, but the man maintained his initial rhythm, continuing his attack without being deterred by any injuries.

The ongoing battle made Marcus feel his strength gradually increasing, but he still couldn't keep up with the nimble, snake-like Hurt.

With a chance, he pushed off with his back foot, relaxed his wrist, and the arc became more pronounced. All the skills honed in actual combat were finally demonstrated in a sweeping attack.

His sword and Hurt's sword clashed together, the two facing each other, sparks flying as their blades crossed, so close they could see each other's reflections in their pupils.

Marcus did something that surprised Hurt: he released his left hand, clenched it into a fist, and punched it hard into his temple.

Hurt tried to dodge, but the dock warrior, who had become accustomed to the knight's agile and unrestrained style, chose to press forward with his body weight.

If you don't want to get punched, then you'll get punched by a sword.

The fist struck Hurt precisely in the right temple, the cracking sound was very soft, like a dry twig being broken.

The Speed ​​Bump talent's power, which increases continuously throughout the battle, turns this onslaught into a deadly impact.

"Hmm~"

Hel's body stiffened for a moment, a satisfied groan escaped his throat, and he fell to the ground.

Marcus then pushed off the ground with his back foot, and the longsword that had been locked in a stalemate pierced his heart. The sound of flesh and fascia being torn apart was far less pleasant than a groan.

Hurt fell lightly to the ground without splashing a speck of dirt, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He stared at the indifferent Marcus: "Interested in joining the Church of Pleasure, Marcus Norfitz? I'm very interested in you, your unwavering will to resist temptation, your strong and resilient body..."

A longsword slashed diagonally downwards, landing on Hurt's delicate face. Marcus cleaved his head in two with a single stroke, confirming the snake was completely dead, and said, oblivious to the romance,

"No, I'm not interested. I'm not some pervert who enjoys being beaten. It hurt like hell just now."