Dust coiled beneath Rhys's boots as he stepped forward, swinging his sword. Though one leg lagged behind—stiff and pained—his blade moved as if it had a will of its own.
Every time Hans tried to strike, he was met with the unforgiven clang of Rhys's steel.
"You've grown slow," Rhys said coolly, parrying a wild horizontal slash.
The impact made Hans recoil, his hands aching from the strength behind it.
"All that training in the chruch made you soft."
"Shut up!"
Hans bellowed. He even buff his stamina and speed, but still couldn't be on par with his ex- instructor.
He could see Rhys light mana covered his body, making his movement even more dangerous than usual.
They clashed again, and this time, Rhys used his limp as a feint—dragging his foot just enough to seem vulnerable, only to rotate and slice along Hans's flank.
The knight yelped, blood staining his armor as he staggered back, breath ragged.
