The overflowing streaks of blood stained the Hand Armor red.
A sword wound carved across Arsen's left brow, slicing deep into the brow ridge, all the way to his cheek.
It seemed just a little deeper could have blinded his eye.
Arsen raised his gaze, looking at the black-haired knight who, in spite of a heavily wounded body, stubbornly stood his ground.
Had it not been for the opponent's still-mediocre strength and speed, Arsen would have almost believed he had been battling against a master of Martial Arts.
Such swordsmanship in our time?
Unlike the Spear Warrior who vanished abruptly in the glow of magic, Arsen knew that the young man before him, even with Dawson's necklace enhancing him, was leagues beneath him in martial prowess.
One could argue that his own abdominal injury was limiting his strength, but the opponent bore serious injuries inflicted by him as well—standing up was already a miracle...
Nevertheless… this young man had still managed to wound him.
