447 Chapter 208

Lowering his visor, Riftan fixed his keen gaze on the giant of a man standing opposite him. Richard Breston, who had been posturing arrogantly with his bloodied sword resting on his shoulder, shifted slowly into an offensive stance.

The humid air was heavy with the man's palpable bloodthirst. It was clear that he had no interest in a mere contest of swordsmanship; his sole objective was to obliterate his enemy.

Riftan angled his sword, preparing himself. The clamor of the frenzied spectators began to fade as his senses honed in on the beast before him. White breaths escaped the man's mouth in slow whiffs, like a dragon about to breathe fire.

These thoughts raced through Riftan's mind just as the northerner charged at him with explosive force. He swung his sword, feeling the impact resonate through his shoulder with what sounded like a clap of thunder. The force of the attack was that of an ogre striking with an iron mace.