The Flag

"Good, if no one finds out."

Amid the merchants' collective silence and the mercenaries' curses, Kandar swept his cold gaze across the surroundings.

"Then let's begin the duel as soon as possible."

Tales's heart tightened.

Damn it.

He clenched his fists, his gaze fixed firmly on the distant Blue-faced Orc Duraman.

If things took a turn for the worst...

If the duel became unavoidable...

How was he supposed to survive?

Tales took a deep breath and entered the state of Hell Senses, observing the enemy's condition. But a sudden bang outside his eardrums startled him.

It took Tales several seconds to react: the Beastmen were looting the caravan's goods in the distance.

On the Wasteland, his clashes with Starfaller and The Dead Crow had greatly advanced Sin of the Hell River, strengthening Hell Senses along with it.

But precisely because of that, Tales had learned his lesson: Hell Senses could grant perception beyond the ordinary, but sometimes, overly keen senses were not necessarily a good thing.

When countless pieces of information normally shut out from his perception were all poured into his mind by Hell Senses, Tales was left in complete chaos, unable to distinguish east from west. During the melee just now, for example, the sound of a Beastman grinding his teeth twenty meters away had sounded deafening, like an entire army on the march, and was often confused with the clashing of blades and axes just one meter away. The movements of enemies in the distance were as clear as if they were right before his eyes, causing Tales to instinctively raise his hand to block them while overlooking the threats at arm's length.

Becoming sharp-eyed and keen-eared seemed like something everyone would envy, but Tales could only describe the experience as suffering: the slightest increase in noise