Ye Chen had pushed both his speed and his angle to the limit. That was how he always fought: he never held back, and even an ambush brought him no guilt.
Because he had been forced to fight this way.
Whether he was battling War Wolf in Freezing Hell or fighting Slaves to the death in Mary Geoise, Ye Chen had survived the same way. A duel did not have to be fair and square. There was no need for etiquette or rules. He struck to bring down his enemy. That was all.
His clashes with Lucci had made Ye Chen more cunning, too. His methods bordered on dirty.
Lucci was an assassin who would use any means necessary. Ambush and murder were perfectly ordinary to him—second nature, even. Their repeated fights had made Ye Chen more ruthless and vicious.
When he struck, he had only one goal. How he achieved it did not matter!
Trading pleasantries and waiting for an opponent to get ready and take a stance before fighting struck Ye Chen as laughably childish.
Would an enemy show you that courtesy?
Koshiro neither dodged nor retreated. Only when the blade was about to pierce him did he drift aside, light as cotton. Oto passed so close it brushed the edge of his clothes. Koshiro tapped his foot against the floor; since they were in the Bamboo House, a bamboo stick was in his hand an instant later.
Ye Chen's sharp brows rose, fury blazing in his eyes. Koshiro was plainly looking down on him. Ye Chen moved like the wind, his assault suddenly growing far fiercer. He showed no mercy; every thrust aimed for a vital spot.
Swordlight flashed, and killing intent surged skyward. Yet Koshiro turned aside every attack with casual ease. His swordsmanship looked utterly