Weaklings Should Know Their Place
Barca spat a mouthful of blood after receiving Orobak's powerful blow, which almost broke his defensive stance.
"I see. So that is the armor that belonged to my Grandfather," Barca said as he looked at the black armor that covered Orobak's entire body. "The Blackrock Legacy Set."
"Indeed." Orobak sneered. "A fitting armor for me, isn't it?"
"The armor is good, but the one wearing it is trash," Barca replied. "If it could only talk, it would have already told you that you are garbage."
Orobak laughed. "A loser's last words. Have you had enough? It's time for you to die, Halfbreed."
"Bring it on, Trash!" Barca gritted his teeth as he held the handle of his weapon tightly. His short talk with his enemy had given him a brief period of rest in order to regain some of his strength. However, he knew that he was about to reach his limit.