As Baron Rivelle and the Knight Commander closed the distance between themselves and their opponents, the Goblin and the Minotaur instantly sprang into motion. The Minotaur tore toward the right, while the Goblin darted left, giving each other ample space for the battle about to erupt.
Baron Rivelle and the Knight Commander neither spoke nor exchanged glances. No words were needed, no gesture, no nod, not even a whisper. They understood each other perfectly, bound by decades of brotherhood, countless battles, and mutual respect forged on blood-soaked fields. Their coordination was seamless, born not from practice but from instinct honed by shared survival.
Without hesitation, the Knight Commander surged to the right, his armored frame blurring forward with impossible speed. His target was the Minotaur, an enormous beast of muscle and rage. The two were perfectly matched: both colossal, both wielders of devastatingly heavy weapons, and both brimming with mountain-like strength.
