With nothing more than a straightforward thrust of his staff, Ogre caused the Knight Apprentice’s expression to shift slightly.
It wasn't because the strike was exceptionally fierce, but because Ogre had aimed straight for his groin.
Even though armor protected the area, a staff inherently dealt blunt-force trauma. Given how kinetic force transferred, even if one knew it was technically safe, few would willingly take a blow there.
“Despicable!” the Knight Apprentice cursed softly under his breath as he dodged backward.
He had never encountered an opponent like this before.
Ogre couldn't have cared less. Seeing the other boy dodge, he already had a clear read: his opponent's combat experience was sorely lacking.
With a sudden snap of his arms, Ogre transitioned from a thrust into an upward flick, redirecting the strike toward his opponent's face and throat.
There was no armor here. A solid thrust to the throat was something even a low-tier Professional knight might struggle to withstand.
Yet Ogre's strike failed to land.
The Knight Apprentice caught the other end of the staff with one hand, deflecting Ogre's strike into his breastplate instead.
Seeing this, Ogre twisted his wrists to yank the staff back. The attack could no longer inflict damage, and he had to retrieve his weapon immediately.
Otherwise, if the opponent seized it firmly, he would be left disarmed.
Having deflected the attack, cold sweat broke out across the Knight Apprentice’s brow. He hadn't expected to encounter such vicious tactics right out of the gate. If his opponent had been wielding a refined iron spear and possessed a bit more strength, he might have been defeated in the very first exchange.
Having witnessed Ogre's staff technique, he cast aside his contempt.
“In a fight to the death, there is no such thing as ‘despicable,’” Ogre replied, using his words to disrupt his opponent's focus.
Still, it was the truth.
A move that killed the enemy was a good move. When hunting on the outskirts of the Forest of Monsters, Ogre always kept quicklime ready in his waist pouch—not for monsters, but for humans.
As long as the powder blinded their eyes, the rest was easy. He had picked up that trick early on from street fights; those thugs truly resorted to every trick in the book.
In this arena, he was already holding back considerably.
“You won't get another chance,” the Knight Apprentice growled, gripping his sword with both hands. He had nearly humiliated himself just moments ago.
Rather than continuing to bait him with words, Ogre answered with action.
Gripping the rear end of the staff with one hand and the middle with the other, Ogre lowered its tip slightly. Moving in sync with his advancing footwork, the plain refined iron staff seemed to transform into a slithering serpent, snapping forward with lethal intent.
Facing the bizarre, snake-like thrust, the Knight Apprentice was fully prepared. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward to meet it. He had already gauged the damage Ogre could inflict; meeting offense with offense and trading injury for injury was the best way to shatter such agile techniques!
He was confident that with just one strike—a single slash—he could incapacitate this defending champion!
Sure enough, seeing his charge, Ogre retracted his staff and stepped back.
Delighted to see his gamble pay off, the Knight Apprentice slashed upward, aiming to knock the staff aside. He might concede that his martial skill lagged behind his opponent's, but he had superior strength!
Sword met staff as one pressed forward and the other fell back. On the surface, Ogre seemed to have taken the worst of the exchange, so much so that the staff was jarred entirely from his grip.
What the Knight Apprentice failed to notice was the smile curling beneath Ogre's mask. He had been waiting for him to overcommit!
As the staff flew into the air, the Knight Apprentice sensed something was wrong. His upward slash hadn't met any resistance at all!
His opponent had deliberately shifted techniques and let it fly!
How could this be? How could anyone possess such immaculate control over their strength?
Who in their right mind would discard their weapon in the middle of a fight?
He had been played!
His premonition proved correct. He had put all his weight behind that upward slash, making it impossible to adjust his stance in time!
At that very instant, Ogre smoothly halted his retreat. His power had been anchored in his legs and feet the entire time; stopping required only a slight pivot and a forward push off his trailing foot.
His lead hand, which had let go of the staff intentionally, snapped from an open grip into a clenched fist.
Dropping into a deep horse stance and borrowing his opponent's forward momentum, it was as if the boy were delivering his own face straight into Ogre's knuckles.
Crack!
Bone ground against bone in a sharp, sickening crunch.
Under the watchful eyes of the entire crowd, the charging Knight Apprentice was flattened to the ground with a single punch, his sword clattering aside!
The reversal occurred so fast that many spectators hadn't even registered what happened.
‘His skull is hard...’
Part of that cracking sound had come from Ogre's own fist...
Ogre's fist had struck squarely above the upper lip, a vulnerable cluster of facial nerves. An ordinary person taking a blow there would have their legs trembling in agony.
Yet his opponent was no ordinary person; the toughness of his facial tissue exceeded Ogre's expectations.
Had it not been for the pinpoint precision afforded by his high-speed kinetic vision, Ogre might have been the one to come out worse from that punch.
Still, there were no 'ifs' in combat...
As the refined iron staff clattered to the floor, thunderous cheers erupted from the stands.
“Big-city boy, huh? Dropped in two exchanges!”
“Gourmet! Gourmet!”
“Get lost, out-of-towner!”
“I knew betting on him was free money!”
Paying no heed to the cheers, Ogre simply used his other hand to pop his slightly dislocated knuckles back into place.
That punch had channeled the unified force of his waist, legs, and fist to deal such damage. Fortunately, his regenerative ability was exceptional; otherwise, it wasn't a move he could use often.
This 'instant knockout' hadn't been easy, but its visual impact was undeniably theatrical.
Of course, this was only an arena match.
In a true fight to the death, the boy would already be dead—the hidden blade nestled in Ogre's sleeve was coated in Silver-Needle Bee venom.
Even without venom, snapping the hidden blade out by surprise would have easily pierced his vitals.
“Ugh... you despicable bastard! Stand still and fight if you've got the guts!” Hearing the deafening jeers from below the stage, the Knight Apprentice finally recovered from the suffocating pain. Eyes bloodshot, he moved to lunge forward for revenge.
He had never suffered such humiliation in his life!
“Lange!”
A shout from below the stage snapped the Knight Apprentice back to his senses.
The Knight Apprentice named Lange immediately froze and turned back toward the ring's edge.
Standing there was the companion who had arrived with him—a young noble clad in standard Mage Apprentice robes.
“Lange, you've already lost. In the few breaths you spent on the ground, your opponent had ample time to finish you,” the Mage Apprentice said indifferently, seemingly unbothered by the defeat.
“Young Master Folke, I... I just...” Lange wanted to explain himself. He felt aggrieved; clearly, his raw strength was far superior to that scrawny runt's.
“Get down here. Haven't you embarrassed me enough?” Folke scolded from the waiting area.
Rather than losing the match, he seemed to find his attendant's conduct far more disgraceful.
“Yes, Young Master...” Offering no further excuses, Lange complied. He walked over to retrieve his fallen Sword of Discipline, his rationality finally restored.
For a knight, having one's weapon knocked away was an undisputed loss.
“You just got lucky this time,” Lange muttered begrudgingly as he passed by Ogre.
‘Luck, was it? Sure, whatever you say.’ Concealed beneath his mask, Ogre didn't show the slightest reaction.
Indifference was often the greatest contempt.
Only as Lange was about to step off the stage did Ogre finally chime in: “Wipe your bloody nose. And remember to wear a helmet next time.”
“Hahaha!”
Ogre's remark sent the nearby spectators into roars of laughter. They relished nothing more than seeing someone try to act tough only to get humiliated.
“I thought he was supposed to be hot stuff! That's it?”
“Look at that out-of-towner looking down on us earlier! Where'd all that arrogance go?”
Seeing an out-of-towner eat dirt delighted the crowd. They might squabble amongst themselves normally, but when facing outsiders, they stood united.
Only when the Mage Apprentice stepped into the ring did the merry atmosphere finally settle down.
“Show him what you've got, Gourmet!”
“Pummel him just like the last one!”
“I bet everything on you, Arena King!”
Ogre, as usual, ignored the crowd's clamor. Straightening his mask, he fixed his gaze upon his new challenger.
Mage Apprentice—Folke.
Rate on N.U.
