Arthur didn't even turn to look.
He tilted his head slightly, letting the spear graze past his cheek before it embedded itself into the ground behind him.
Then he spoke.
"...That's all?"
Althea clenched her teeth.
'He's toying with us.'
Althea's tattered top clung desperately to her glistening skin, half-burnt and barely holding onto decency. The side of her breast peeked with every movement, and a long tear along her thigh exposed the top of her lace panties—already singed at the edges.
She charged forward, her greatsword dripping with water magic as it came crashing down.
BOOM!
The ground cracked, sending dust and rock flying—but Arthur wasn't there.
In a blink, something hard pressed against her back—a muscular chest. And something sharper—cold steel—rested against the soft skin of her throat.
Arthur's voice brushed her ear, deep and low. "Still too slow."
Her breath hitched. She knew that tone too well.
