Before the Ill-Bred Minuteman could even think about victory, his polearm was dislodged from the knight's back, and a hand surged forward, grabbing his throat and crushing his windpipe with brutal force.
As the dirt-blood choked, his polearm was seized and promptly lodged right through his face, killing him instantly.
A groan escaped the knight's mouth.
Vijudius felt awful, he had expanded a lot of energy toward dealing with the wretched abomination for good, and now, there was a huge gash across his back, if not for the fact that he hadn't relaxed and maintained his fighting spirit to reinforce his body, his spine would have definitely been damaged just now, and that would have spelt his doom without the shadow of a doubt.
