"What are you doing? Do you only know how to defend?"
"Attack me! You coward!"
Only the noise from the collision rang out over the silent atmosphere.
And now, the fight between them had been going on for quite a long time. Of course, Hector was in a disadvantaged situation.
He had no incredible speed like the prisoner, so all he could do was avoid and block, unable to fight back.
Yet, all of that was within his calculations.
He was waiting for the right moment to make his move.
"It’s starting to get boring..." the prisoner uttered through his broken lips, looking at Hector aggressively.
Tightly holding the short sword, he took a fighting stance like an assassin — but with a different posture.
"Tsk! I guess it’s just a mishmash skill picked up from brawling in the streets."
Indeed, after just a brief clash with the prisoner, he was able to assess his skill, and he could say one thing:
He had probably never undergone proper training from an academy or anything similar.
It was a patchwork version of many different techniques, combined in a crude way.
If this prisoner didn’t possess that disgusting mana, Hector might have defeated him a long time ago.
So, everything was still under his control.
Hector grimaced, stepping back a few steps before focusing his mind on the prisoner’s next move.
Then, immediately, the prisoner rushed at Hector with enhanced speed and quickly swung his sword while cursing in a language Hector couldn’t understand.
Hector raised his sword’s sharp edge to block the prisoner’s strike as usual, but suddenly, the hair on his whole body stood on end as the prisoner vanished a few seconds before their blades could meet.
His pupils rolled rapidly, searching for any hint of the prisoner. And with his special eyes, he easily spotted a trace of mana in front of him, just a few meters away, meaning the prisoner had just vanished from that spot.
Within just a few seconds, measured by his breath, he finally locked onto the prisoner’s position.
A faint wind brushed past Hector before a sharp clang ended the silence.
A several seconds later.
The sound of blood dripping from Hector’s left hip slowly soaked the chilled and dusty floor.
"Luckily for me, it’s just a shallow wound," Hector exhaled deeply before the wound quickly closed under the flow of his healing capsule.
Yet another sound, an angry shout, broke into Hector’s thoughts.
"H-How the hell do you do that?"
Hector simply gave the prisoner a glance and said lightly:
"A corpse doesn’t need to know how it dies."
Clutching his neck, blood gushing out, breathing hard with each gust of air, the prisoner stared at Hector violently.
Collapsing, he scratched at the floor, trying desperately to escape death, leaving bloody smears around him.
"Tsk!... It’s a pointless effort... But I respect it," Hector slightly shook his head, ignoring the prisoner’s struggle.
"Hmm? What’s going on?" Hector muttered, feeling a little strange as he glanced around.
The other prisoners still wore emotionless expressions, staring at him as if waiting for something to happen.
"Fuck!" Hector instantly clenched his teeth, a chill running down his spine. At that moment, he turned back toward the prisoner whose neck he had just slashed.
Hector’s heartbeats quickened, as if they were about to explode from shock and fear—until a burning pain suddenly flared in his chest.
Hector clenched his teeth tightly, blood trickling from his mouth as his eyes twisted in horror.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his chest—the source of the searing agony.
There, the tip of a sword, drenched in his thick, grimy blood, jutted out from his back.
Not yet, a mischievous, mocking voice lightly brushed against his ears.
"Well, well, well... LITTLE RAT~~."
"You should’ve cut off my entire head instead of just my main artery."
"A pompous rat~," the prisoner laughed, grabbing a fistful of Hector’s hair and yanking him close.
He stared at Hector’s deathly pale face—Hector, who would’ve collapsed to the floor if not for the grip on his hair—and said:
"Don’t worry... You’re not gonna die! I swear... I want you to suffer something worse than death."
Hector knew the prisoner was telling the truth—the spot where the sword had pierced him was indeed a safe point.
"Why don’t you say something anymore? I want to see that arrogant face first."
"Oh! I’m sorry... You can’t..." The prisoner curled one corner of his lips as he took in the worst of Hector’s state.
Then, he swiftly drew his short sword, plunging it into Hector’s chest, confusing his crimson, filthy mana into Hector’s body before Hector completely lost consciousness and died.
It was strange—mana could be used in such a way.
And that was the reason Hector was defeated in that battle.
At that moment, the wound on Hector’s chest began to heal, sealing the hole tightly, leaving only a slow trickle of blood.
Of course, Hector couldn’t move—his arms and legs had all been pinned to the blood-red floor by the prisoner’s blades.
"GOOD JOB! DON’T LET HIM DIE! I’LL GIVE YOU A HUGE REWARD!" From below the fighting yard, Tom shouted, his voice filled with excitement.
Around the yard, whispers began to ripple—soft, subdued. Most prisoners didn’t seem particularly stirred, as if they had seen such scenes many times before.
But a small group reacted differently.
"Lucky bastard! " A prisoner groaned in discomfort.
"Haizz... Who could’ve guessed? The previous prisoner was actually a powerful girl!"
"Plenty of our comrades have fallen because of her!"
"So yeah, it’s no surprise to be cautious."
"Tsk! You think we can survive this? We should just take the reward and find somewhere to live, rather than dying like filthy rats," one prisoner replied bitterly.
"These symptoms ’ve been killing me! I can’t take it anymore! Even with that damn power!" The prisoner clutched his head jealously, glaring at the gaunt prisoner torturing Hector.
The pale-faced fellow, Tyrone, beside him only sighed and muttered:
"We’re defending on it!... Obviously, this is all part of their plan!"