Rogue Fighter

Buck drew a dagger from the fish-skin sheath on his back, closed to within ten paces of Arthur, and suddenly lunged forward.

The dagger aimed for Arthur's kidney, intending to cripple his mobility.

Arthur drew the Whale Herder Sword and parried the dagger with a backhand motion.

Buck the Rogue felt a slight shock, then swung his dagger again, aiming for the blind spot behind Arthur's extended arm.

When a person's arm is bent backward, the effective range for using a longsword is limited, making even simple blocks strenuous.

For his second strike, Buck aimed for the target's other kidney.

Arthur stepped forward, his sword tracing an arc as the tip lunged toward Buck's throat.

The moment Buck lunged, his legs coiled like springs, and he leaped backward.

His eyes were fixed on Arthur's arm; the joint's range of motion was inhuman, as flexible on the back as it was on the front.

"I truly shouldn't underestimate you. I love hunting prey like this—your screams will be far more exquisite than the average person's!"

"A very unique fighting style. From where did you inherit it?"

Arthur did not reply, keeping his back turned to Buck to cultivate an air of mystery.

"You shouldn't have come!"

A whisper echoed in Buck's mind, like the buzzing of a Moth, persistent and incessant.

Buck retreated a step, shielding his head with his fists, guarding himself with extreme caution.

The buzzing in his mind left him shaken; he hadn't expected the opponent to possess such an ability—a transcendent power that struck directly at the soul.

He was certain the target was a transcendent, though he could not determine which path of power was being used.

Arthur unholstered the Fear Musket from his waist and pulled the trigger on Buck.

Bang!

The distance was too close for Buck to find room to dodge, and the bullet struck his arm.

Hm?

The pain in his arm was within his tolerance; it lacked the impact he had imagined, as he had expected his arm to be shattered.

The whisper rose in his mind once more: "I am giving you a chance; you had better cherish it."

Buck looked up at Arthur's back. The target was turning around, and a sudden premonition rose in his heart.

He might die here! The moment the opponent turned around would be his death knell!

Arthur opened the [Ritual] and retrieved the "Fear" he had stored in advance, casting it toward Buck behind him.

Break the opponent's psychological defenses; when a person's heart is filled with fear, how much combat effectiveness can they possibly have left?

The fear sprouting in Buck's heart gathered continuously, condensing into a bullet within the Despair Musket.

"Hahaha!"

Buck trembled all over, tears streaming down his cheeks as he grinned, emitting a chilling laugh.

"Fear! This kind of fear! It has been so long since I felt it!"

He stretched his body, performing thorough warm-up exercises, speaking as he moved:

"Lord Arthur, you might not be aware of why I joined the Black Devil."

"Indeed, I have no interest."

Arthur watched the opponent's movements, his heart sinking slightly; the Fear Musket had produced the opposite effect.

Had the intense fear actually ignited the opponent's will to fight?

He turned around to face Buck directly, gripping the Whale Herder Sword in preparation.

"Chasing fear! I am chasing the pleasure of fear!"

"As a gladiator of the Holy Empire, bathing in blood and slaughter in the arena, I hovered between life and death every single day."

Buck's aura shifted abruptly; the Rogue's casual, lax demeanor faded, replaced by a sense of resolve.

The resolve of "either you die, or I live"!

"I did not know what the meaning of a gladiator's survival was, until the Black Devil found me."

"They told me they could grant my desires and told me what my pursuit was."

"When I signed the contract with the devil and walked out of that sinful arena, I realized that my true craving was—"

Drool leaked from the corner of Buck's mouth, his eyes locked tightly onto Arthur.

"The pleasure of fear! The thrill of hovering on the edge of life and death!"

"The joy of my heart constricting violently while fighting lions and sharks!"

Arthur raised the Whale Herder Sword, assuming a starting stance, and said indifferently, "Then why don't you go to the Church of Light? That would surely be thrilling."

Buck's mouth twitched; he craved the thrill of fear, not a death wish born of insanity.

"Enough talk! Go to hell!"

In Arthur's perception, his opponent had transformed from a bulky Rogue into a bloodthirsty shark.

Waltz of Despair!

He took the initiative to close the distance, thrusting the Whale Herder Sword toward Buck as the oom-pah-pah rhythm echoed beneath his feet.

Buck easily closed in on Arthur, his left hand locking around Arthur's throat from under his ribs while his right hand lunged toward his heart.

But Arthur was as slippery as a loach, effortlessly breaking the chokehold as his blade swept upward from under his ribs, aiming to sever Buck's arm.

Buck revealed a triumphant grin, intentionally meeting the blade with his arm while driving his dagger toward Arthur's head.

Sacrificing an arm was an acceptable loss to him.

Arthur's body suddenly went limp, like a boneless sea snake, spinning around Buck's frame.

Slash—

An arm flew into the sky, blood splattering onto the lower left corner of his linen tunic.

Stepping with elegant grace to the beat of the waltz, the dagger sliced through the linen fabric across his chest.

Dodging the strike, Arthur drew his real firearm and pulled the trigger directly at Buck.

The moment he pulled the trigger, he discarded the firearm and swung the Whale Herder Sword toward Buck's chest.

In the blink of an eye, Buck threw the dagger and reached out to block the bullet.

With a twisted expression, he curled his tongue to bite onto the dagger, enduring the pain as he raised his hand to meet the incoming sword.

Rogue—

The Whale Herder Sword pierced through Buck's arm, slicing from the back of his hand to the back of his forearm, yet a wild grin spread across his lips.

With his yellowed teeth clamped onto the dagger, he lunged forward, the blade sliding toward Arthur's throat.

At that instant, Arthur fell backward, releasing the hilt of the Whale Herder Sword.

He rolled across the ground, putting distance between himself and Buck.

Buck, collapsed on the ground, felt the smile on his face freeze completely; his prized combat style, a style that feared no pain, had failed to produce the results he imagined.

"Is this your combat style? It's despairingly agile."

Buck staggered to his feet, his eyes burning with passionate fire as he bit down on the hilt of the Whale Herder Sword.

Blood streamed down his arms and ribs, yet his fighting spirit remained high.

Arthur stroked his chest, where a bright red gash lay beneath the torn linen; his reflexes had been fast enough, yet Buck had still managed to touch him.

Watching Buck, who was still biting the Whale Herder Sword and attempting to continue the fight, Arthur raised the Fear Musket in his hand. "As your opponent, I cannot help but marvel at your combat instincts!"

"I now declare, the battle is over!"

A roar erupted from Buck's throat as his legs sprinted like a gale, his figure shifting constantly in an attempt to confuse Arthur.

Arthur waited in place, then suddenly took a large step back and pulled the trigger.

The Fear Bullet struck Buck in the forehead.

"Three parts fear transformed into final despair—you have lost!"