At that moment, Arlong was resplendent. He was glorious.
For the second time in his life, he had "voluntarily" launched a brave and fearless charge at a man with "admiral-level strength."
Every inch of Arlong's body tensed into a single mass. His surging blood rushed to his head, and his pounding footsteps tore up the ground like two plowshares, leaving devastation in their wake.
His three-meter-tall frame swept forward amid billowing shockwaves, charging at Garen like a tiger descending the mountain or an eagle swooping on its prey, carrying an air of breaking the cauldrons and sinking the boats, of risking life and limb.
Yet Garen remained calm, utterly unmoved by the storm-like assault. He merely stood proudly where he was with his sword in hand, looking as relaxed as if he were taking a leisurely stroll.
Soon, a thunderclap-like boom erupted from where they stood, and the resulting shockwave spread in every direction.
"Garen's" flying body kicked up a towering wave of dirt. He then continued skidding through the soil before finally becoming intimately acquainted with a household's concrete steps.
Arlong, who had just halted his attack, stared blankly at his fist in a daze, frozen like a wooden chicken.
Everyone erupted in an uproar.
"Fatal Strike!"
A greatsword gleaming with brilliant golden light abruptly materialized from the transparent void and struck at Arlong's spinal weak point from behind.
Arlong cried out in pain as the blade carved a grotesque wound across his back, flesh turning outward.
Blood poured out like a spring, and the excruciating pain made Arlong's body tremble uncontrollably. Cold sweat soon beaded across his forehead.
Even so, Arlong did not fall.
His fish skin was clearly much thicker than Kuroobi's.
Arlong panted heavily to ease the pain, then slowly hunched over before turning around with