No Chance of Victory

"Huff... huff."

Erigat wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, then used his still-intact left arm alone to brace his body as he staggered up from the ground.

Had he not sensed something amiss in time and urgently restrained the energy output of "Unyielding Steel Heart" beneath the thirty-percent threshold, Erigat's current injuries would have been several times worse. Forget being unable to move after collapsing—even dying on the spot would have been entirely possible.

It was not that Erigat had failed to anticipate that Nuobolik might have other cards hidden up his sleeve. He had simply believed that no matter what, Nuobolik could not possibly withstand the full force of his iron-fisted blow head-on.

Yet reality afterward had slapped Erigat hard across the face.

Before Nuobolik's Spirit Art, which "absorbed one hundred percent of external attacks and reflected them back," no matter how powerful an offensive Erigat unleashed, Nuobolik could return it all in full—using a man's own way against himself. Thus, Erigat had been forced into his current miserable state: blood spurting from all over his body, internal organs damaged, right arm crippled. He had thoroughly tasted the bitter fruit brought by his own overwhelming strength.

"Ugh..."

Erigat clutched his chest, his features twisted savagely as sweat poured down like rain. He panted as he thought.

(This Clown actually possesses such an absurd technique.)

(That means every attack I make from here on out is basically useless against him.)

(This is terrible. This type of enemy is the absolute worst for me.)

At that thought, Erigat felt the entire situation turn pitch-black.

If it had been someone skilled in long-range attacks, then even when faced with Nuobolik's reflective ability, they would still have had a chance to react and evade it. They could then gradually circle