Provoking Idiots

Oh…

Alex gritted his teeth as a dull ache spread through his arm.

The impact had buckled his stance.

Damn… he's strong.

Even with one arm, Kyiv's strikes were heavy—far more powerful than Alex had expected.

He took a step back, but Kyiv was already there.

A second strike.

A third.

Each one more faster, sharper, and deadlier.

Alex had no room to counter.

He barely managed to block, his sword ringing with every desperate parry.

But he was losing ground.

Kyiv's onslaught was relentless—his attacks flowing together like a storm, giving Alex no time to breathe.

Yet, despite the pressure, Alex grinned.

This is fun.

No matter how fast he moved—no matter how many feints he used—Kyiv followed.

It was almost unnatural.

Alex's eyes narrowed.

The way Kyiv moved was like he was floating.

And then Alex realized it was the damned boot.