The Blood God was stopped by his student just as he was about to attack for the second time. It was clear that Sangre did not want him to fight because of his own inadequacy. Without waiting for an answer, the orc warrior, with his six knives spinning around him, charged again; this time Çekiçdöven was coming from behind.
There was no anxiety on their faces born from the repulsion a moment ago. With determined looks, they gazed at the old man who had taken his two swords in hand. This time Sangre sent his knives first; although they were blown away by the wind, he could recall them whenever he wanted. Their enemy also seemed to have focused his power on his weapons, for there was a dance of wind vibrating madly on the two swords.
The sword and knives began to clash. After a few swings, none of Sangre's weapons remained around the old man. At this moment, the thick, broad greatsword took the stage; Çekiçdöven was bringing down his blow with all his might.
In response, the old man blocked with his swords crossed in front of him. The two weapons did not touch; a storm forming between them prevented this. Thinking this was his chance, Sangre circulated the knives he had recalled behind the enemy and sent them from his blind spot, intending to sever his neck in one strike.
As if expecting this, the old man immediately separated one sword from the other. Even in this state, Çekiçdöven could not push his weapon forward even a finger's breadth. The Black Lily Clan elder swung his sword behind him, and a breath later, a frantic storm appeared that sent all the weapons flying in different directions.
Without wasting any time, the old man made a slash toward the orc standing in front of him. Subsequently, the huge orc trembled like a leaf and let out a heart-wrenching scream as he flew dozens of steps backward.
Çekiçdöven was spent in a single attack. While being hurled through the air, it was impossible for him to see Sangre passing by him at speed. The Blood Warrior now took two of the knives that normally circled around him into his hands and attacked his opponent, who needed time to recover after the attack he had made.
Actually, his choice was logical; with the moment of attack, a gap, however small, had to form in everyone's defense. He had wanted to use this, but the person facing him was no longer just anyone; perhaps they were making the biggest mistake by failing to analyze the changing conditions.
The old man was prepared for this when Sangre came to his side; he performed two consecutive swings with his swords. Despite this, the orc, with only two knives in his hands, showed no sign of stopping.
He sent his remaining four knives behind the old man. This was the reason for his reckless attack, but unfortunately, none of his weapons would touch the man. While the Blood Warrior, taking the attack directly, was hurled away like a severed kite, he pulled his weapons along with him as if he were a magnet.
The old man seemed out of it; he was performing his attacks and his seemingly impenetrable defense as if automatically. He fixed his eyes on the two orcs lying on the ground; it was clear he had decided to get rid of them forever.
The old man took a quick step forward. He was about to follow it with a second when he suddenly stopped for an inexplicable reason. At the same time, Sangre was slowly standing up, and in these moments, his old wounds opened, and blood began to ooze slowly.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
The Blood Warrior screamed until the last breath in his lungs to produce a sound resembling the roar of a wild beast; he yelled as if he would never fall silent. The moment this event ended, a glass tube from the void appeared in his hand, and Sangre quickly began to empty the bottle containing red liquid into his mouth.
With the liquid finished, he fell to his knees. Red lines began to appear on his face, and slowly these lines would descend to his arms. Suddenly Sangre opened his eyes; the blood-red gleam of his pupils shone in the dim darkness of the day that had almost surrendered to the night.
Covered from head to toe in patterns formed by red lines, Sangre took a slightly hunched stance. While the two canine teeth hanging from the corners of his mouth had lengthened almost threefold, they sharpened like knives toward the tips.
Nafız was in disbelief. He stood before the most important reason why the Holy Blood Sect, to which his master belonged, had turned into a huge formation. Jashua had managed to awaken the founding ancestor's greatest and uncopyable ability.
He was achieving this thanks to the potion he specially produced from his own blood. A long-lost technique of the Hell Realm called Vampiric Transformation was being reborn on the Orc Steppes, the other name for desolation.
The six throwing knives lifted from where they were. This time, unlike normal, they did not spin around their owner but waited as if suspended at intervals above his head. Blood was still oozing from the wounds on the transformed Sangre's body; it was understood that this technique had no healing effect whatsoever. The interesting part was that the blood, as if under orders, was merging with the red lines appearing on Sangre's body.
This event lasted for a few breaths, and then the Blood Warrior joined his hands above his head and swung them rapidly to both sides. His six knives were still above his head, and now six more blood-red knives appeared beside them.
With them starting to spin around their owner who lunged forward, Sangre reached the old man in the blink of an eye. He swung his right hand, shaped like a claw, quickly toward his face; the old man, whose vital point was targeted, had to take a step back. This retreat was for both defense and to open up space, however small, to attack his opponent. He didn't wait even a moment to make a stabbing motion with the sword in his hand.
"Ahhhhhhhh!"
A pitiful scream was heard at that exact moment; the voice of the old man, who hadn't uttered a sound for so long, fluctuated wildly. The reaction of the Black Lily Clan Elder was normal because one of the hands required to use the two swords was missing. He looked at his madly bleeding wound with bewildered and fearful eyes. His thoughts were in turmoil due to his brain resisting understanding what was happening, even though he saw it.
He had dodged the attack, and his timing for a counter was perfect, but he had never taken into account the bloody claw hidden behind Sangre's move. This mistake was due to his opponent's cunning; increasing the number of knives was a little trick made to ensure the old man focused all his attention there.
The real weapon was hiding in the blood-colored shadows that followed every movement of his body. The old man, who quickly fled back when he swung his other claw, could only learn this truth by sacrificing a hand.
Immediately, the knives began their descent to slice him from above his head. Since their numbers had doubled, the old man could barely escape. He had no time to breathe; Sangre was swinging a kick toward his waist.
He couldn't even find the opportunity to attack. He had to use all his attention and energy to escape the consecutive combo attacks. According to his guess, this transformation could not continue for long; it would end somewhere. He had applied a similar method himself, and he was now at the end of his. He felt the power he gained slowly diminishing and disappearing.
He focused only on parrying. He planned to take down his attacking opponent the moment his battery ran out. Indeed, what he thought seemed to be coming true; signs of slowing in the movements and fatigue in the eyes of the madly attacking orc were appearing. The old man sharpened all his senses. He became fully attentive not to miss the moment he would find an opening. He had to use this chance and then flee from this place without looking back, using the giant crow.
For a moment, his eyes lit up. The moment he expected came sooner than he guessed; Sangre, making a cross slash with both hands at the same time, forgot to unleash his knives upon the man. The old man, who had only one hand left, did not hesitate for even a moment and swung his sword from bottom to top with lightning speed with the intention to kill.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime; only this thought was in his mind. He didn't know he was making the mistake of his lifetime at the same time. His attack resulted in the six knives that suddenly shot up from the ground piercing through his body.
When the Blood Warrior created six blood-red knives by swinging his hands to the side, he had formed just as many underground, though no one saw. While the old man waited for the mistake he would make, Sangre was of the same mind as him; even knew that his own empowerment would end before his opponent's.
Therefore, he gave an obvious opening and ensured that the old man, with years of experience, fell into the same mistake as the mage he had killed years ago.
"Thud!"
When the Black Lily Clan Elder, unable to stand, fell face down on the ground, the blood-red knives were still in his body. After piercing through, they had gathered on his back, showing off almost like a symbol of victory.