Herson, with his exhausted and wounded body, was now barely defending himself. The arms that raised his sword trembled from the countless blows he had endured.
I swung my sickles at him, again and again, with the ruthlessness of a storm.
My goal was not to wound him, but to tire him, to exhaust him. I would not stop until he had no strength left, until his steel will was broken.
His wrists were trembling now, he could barely even hold his sword.
But still, with that damn pride, he continued to fight, to stand. Weakened and bleeding, he continued to make the last stand for his ruined castle.
He deserved the name "Red General" to the very end.
But it was futile. Today, here, he would pay the price for his actions. Today, I would kill him.
It was close. All I needed was a small opening. A single moment of carelessness was all it took for me to tear his heart from his chest.
