The movement was as fast as lightning, and the aqua-blue bone knife drew a graceful arc in the air. The sound of the blade breaking through the wind was low and sharp, like the roar of some giant beast in the deep sea.
Redd looked at his action of rushing over and almost couldn't help laughing.
Not ridicule, but an instinctive amusement at this overestimating challenger.
The speed of Tormund is indeed not slow. Among ordinary people, it is definitely considered a top player.
But in Redd's eyes, the movements were as slow as swimming in water - every muscle contraction, every joint rotation, and the landing point of every step were clearly dissected by his senses.
He even had time to think in his mind: If he hadn't taken advantage of my unprepared sneak attack, it would have been impossible to hit me at this speed.
As soon as he finished his thoughts, the bone knife was already struck in front of him.
Redd dodged sideways, his movements as light as a leisurely stroll.
The blade scraped across his chest, and the wind blew away a few grains of burnt ash remaining on the leather armor.
He bent down and picked up an abandoned shield from the ground with his right hand - a wooden round shield wrapped in iron sheet. The edges were a little damaged, but the whole thing was still strong.
Tormund followed with the second slash, slashing horizontally, targeting Redd's waist and abdomen.
The angle of this knife is more cunning and the speed is faster. It is obviously a killing move that he has practiced for many years in fighting.
Redd raised his shield to block.
The shield is cut neatly down the middle, like a paper knife slicing through a thin piece of paper.
The cut surfaces of the iron and wood were incredibly smooth, without even a trace of burrs. The broken shield flew to both sides and hit the beach with two dull sounds.
Redd let go of his hand the moment the shield was cut open. His reaction speed was so fast that it almost didn't go through his brain - his fingers bounced away within a millisecond of feeling the change in resistance, as if they had been burned.
If it were just a little slower, the blade would scratch his finger, and he didn't want to use his own skin and flesh to test the sharpness of the bone knife just yet.
He glanced at the two halves of the shield on the ground, and then at the bone knife still glowing with aqua blue light in Tormund's hand, and there was a hint of real interest in his eyes.
This knife is a bit interesting.
Tormund didn't give him time to appreciate it. The third knife struck immediately, stabbing straight at Redd's throat.
The angle of this knife was extremely tricky, taking advantage of the moment when Redd's center of gravity shifted slightly after the first two knives were dodged and blocked, to stab the most lethal part.
The corners of Redd's mouth raised slightly.
This is what he was waiting for.
The moment the bone knife stabbed out, Redd's left hand reached out like lightning, and accurately grasped Tormund's right wrist.
The five fingers tightened, like five iron hoops, cutting into Tormund's flesh.
"Click--"
The sound of broken bones was clear and short, like someone stepping on a dry branch.
Tormund's right wrist was bent into an impossible angle under Redd's grip. The wrist bones were shattered, the joints were dislocated, the fingers lost all strength, and the bone knife slipped from his hand.
Tormund's face was distorted at that moment.
Not a scream, not a scream, but a silent, spasmodic twisting of the muscles, veins popping up on the forehead, lips pursed tightly, and teeth clenching.
Severe pain shot up from the wrist to the arm like an electric current, entered the spinal cord, and went straight to the brain.
But he didn't scream. Not because he could hold it back, but because the pain came so fast and so hard that it was over before he even had time to open his mouth.
His reaction was astonishingly fast. The moment the bone knife was released, his left hand had already stretched out, his fingers spread wide, and he was grabbing the handle of the knife that was still falling in the air.
That kind of instinctive reaction that is almost unaffected by pain is muscle memory honed in countless life-and-death battles.
But Redd is faster.
At the same moment that the fingertips of Tormund's left hand touched the handle of the knife, Redd's right hand also stretched out.
Both hands grasped the handle of the bone knife at the same time, their knuckles touching each other, and their strength resisting.
Redd's fingers began to tighten the moment they came into contact with the knife handle. Power poured from the base of the palm to the fingertips, crushing Tormund's fingers away from the knife handle inch by inch.
Tormund The sound of a broken finger is not as crisp as the sound of a broken wrist.
It was a finer, denser sound, like the sound of crushing a handful of dry leaves.
The phalanges of the four fingers were broken one after another under Redd's grip, and they were crushed inch by inch from the fingertips to the base of the palm.
Blood gushed out from the broken skin, smearing a dark red sticky mark on the handle of the knife, staining the originally dark handle beyond recognition.
Tormund's mouth finally opened.
Not because of the pain - although the pain was beyond the limit that most humans can bear - but because at that moment he forgot that he was still fighting, that he should remain silent, remain fierce, and maintain the last dignity of Warrior.
He opened his mouth and let out a short whine, as if his throat was being strangled. The sound was crushed between his teeth the moment it came out.
Redd kicked him in the abdomen.
The power of that kick was far beyond Tormund's imagination. He was not pushed away or knocked down, but was pulled up from the ground by an irresistible force, as if he was hit head-on by a running rhinoceros.
His body arched like a shrimp, he flew up from the beach, drew a parabola in the air, flew at least seven or eight meters away, then hit the wet sand heavily, rolled four or five times, and finally lay down on a beach soaked by sea water, covered in mud and in a miserable state.
His left hand still maintained a grasping position, but the fingers were twisted at impossible angles and were bloody. His right wrist drooped, like a broken snake.
Redd didn't look at him again.
He lowered his head, raised the bone knife in his hand to his eyes, and looked at it carefully.
The blade is slender and slightly curved, and the bone texture glows with a warm milky white luster in the morning light, like some ancient biological fossil that has been sleeping for millions of years.
The edge of the blade is polished so sharp that the edge is almost invisible in the sunlight, only a thin, vague bright line can be seen.
And that aqua-blue light—that is the real soul of this weapon.
It swims inside the blade, like a miniature, glowing deep Sea Snake eel trapped in amber, beating, flowing, and breathing as the light changes.
Redd Gently stroked the back of the knife with his thumb, feeling the temperature of the bone.
Not cold, not hot, warm and moist like jade, with a touch that is not metallic and feels like a living thing.
He could feel the pulsation of the aqua-blue light - no, not a pulsation, but a frequency, like something sleeping inside the knife, occasionally turning over and making a silent whisper.