Blood-Soaked Radar (1)

Within a circular hall, two people were sparring with each other. A three-meter bulky male wielded a greatsword while a slim woman in her fitting silver vest was using a rapier.

Despite the difference in weapons' sizes, the greatsword wielder seemed to have a hard time keeping up with the rapier user.

After a hundred moves or so, a simple parry from the rapier disarmed the greatsword with ease.

The muscular man knelt on both knees, panting and puffing: "Your strength has yet again risen to another level, Commander Vespa. It won't be long before you reached level n—."

"Save your boot-licking, Calabrone!! What have you been doing lately? You didn't improve at all." The commander, with a war-god-like menacing expression, sheathed her rapier before walking toward the throne at one side of the hall and sitting on it.

Cold sweat showered the whole figure of the kneeling man. He knew he had been slacking at the practice while only having fun with his men.