Winters had never seen such a flexible one-handed sword before.
Compared to common one-handed arming swords, the longsword's blade could already be considered slender.
Yet the one-handed sword in the robed figure's hands was even more delicate than the blade of the longsword, and despite being a one-handed sword, its length was no shorter than the two-handed sword Winters wielded.
How could sothing so long be so flexible? It was utterly baffling.
Fortunately, this wasn't a competition; there were no points to score.
The Winters of old believed that swordsmanship depended on sparring, and that so-called insights into swordsmanship were just useless nonsense. But after clashing with pirates in a boarding fight, he began to ponder anew the teachings of his teacher, Richard Nal.
"Don't just charge blindly; your footwork must be agile."
Seeing his own strike miss and his opponent's sword already bypassing his guard, stabbing upwards from below the blade, Winters readily let go of the longsword in his hand and flung it directly at his opponent.
"In a competition, that would be an instant loss," he thought. Perhaps it was the experience of two consecutive real battles, but he was no longer so nervous, and he even began to mock himself.
Regardless of what was on his mind, Winters' body didn't stop. He took two quick steps back to dodge the tip of his opponent's sword.
The assassins from Vineta were especially fond of using poison, and Winters had grown up hearing stories about daggers laced with toxins. So, even if there was only a one percent chance, he didn't want to risk even a scratch from his opponent's blade. Discover hidden content at мѵʟ
The opponent didn't expect Winters to have a move that turned a longsword into a throwing axe, and failing to dodge in ti, was solidly hit.
When the robed figure was hit, Winters heard a strange sound. Unfortunately, his longsword was a blunt training sword, and the hit rely caused his opponent to let out a stifled groan of pain without causing any external injury that might incapacitate him.
Winters' "sword throwing technique" briefly delayed the robed figure, who was furious at being tricked and didn't bother pursuing the traveler he was originally after but instead charged straight at Winters with his sword.
Winters hadn't expected his sword-throwing technique to also have a taunting effect. He snickered internally and then... took to his heels and ran.
He didn't know the level of the robed figure's swordsmanship, but had this been a competition where victory was at stake, the opponent's blade entanglent earlier would have secured a win.
However, this was a dock, not a training ground; a fight to the death, not a competition.
So, if I can't outfight you, can't I outrun you?
Yet, Winters had nowhere to go but the pier behind him, so like the traveler who had scrambled before him, he too stepped onto the pier and headed straight for the Bandit Gull.
The freight and alard passersby on the pier hindered the progress of the three runners, and the robed figure watched Winters get ahead. Despite having run a dozen or so steps, he couldn't catch up.
Winters had just seen another robed figure using a gun that could be fired instantly. Since another person had it, there was no reason to think that the robed figure chasing him wouldn't have such a deadly tool.
He was constantly on guard against this possibility, so he didn't dare just run blindly; he kept looking back at the robed figure.
Sure enough, he glimpsed the robed figure raising his other hand, concealed beneath his robe, toward him, and in it was that strange-looking gun.
Already prepared, Winters dove behind a stack of cargo about half a man's height, akin to a short wall, as soon as the robed figure raised his hand, and cursed, "(Expletive)! You resort to a gun in a sword fight! How utterly (expletive) shaless!"
Enraged nearly to the point of spitting blood, the robed figure shot back, "Aren't you the (expletive) running like a rabbit?!"
But talking spelled the robed figure's downfall, completely shattering the image of a silent and efficient assassin.
The robed figure's retort made Winters realize that this was just an ordinary person capable of anger and joy, and his courage swelled even further.
As the robed figure approached, Winters peered through the cracks between the crates and saw his opponent's gun pointing at him continuously, so he did not dare to show himself.
But struck with a sudden inspiration, he rembered Axel's Hair Burning Spell that he had used once before. He imdiately ford the hand gestures for casting a fire spell, recalling the sensation of igniting the hair of a female bandit the other night.
Though he couldn't see the hair beneath the robed figure's cloak, he pushed his magical abilities to the limit regardless, channeling magical power into the top of the robed figure's head.
Familiar pressure and phantom limb pain made Winters tremble, but he gritted his teeth and struggled to maintain the spell until the very last mont.
On the ship, the continual intense phantom pain in his third hand from fighting fires had gradually diminished.
However, just to be safe, the Major prohibited any spellcasters with the rank of Warrant Officer from using any magical abilities until they had fully returned to the normal state. Clearly, that caution now had to be disregarded.
Winters only sustained the use of his magical abilities for a brief period before the agonizing tornt made it impossible for him to concentrate. He took deep breaths and stopped casting the spell.
It seed as if a few wisps of blue smoke rose from the robed figure's head, but unlike the female bandit, there wasn't an imdiate intense combustion; the figure continued moving, indicating that Axel's Hair Burning Spell had seemingly failed.
Winters knew he was clutching at straws; his spellcasting range was actually about one ter. He could use spells within this range, but beyond that distance, his magical abilities beca negligible. Managing to cause a bit of smoke to rise from the robed figure's head a few ters away was already an overachievent.
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