Chapter 66: Race Against Time (3)

The perfect strike wasn't luck.

Not at all.

I watched. Every movement, every strike, every breath... it was all data, and I absorbed it like a dying man clutching at the last embers of fire. Their movements weren't chaos; they were patterns, layers woven into the tapestry of their strength.

The one I stabbed, the one still leaking pitch black void liquid onto the blood-soaked battlefield, had revealed himself to me long before my blade pierced his armor.

He was the front attacker, relentless, destructive, powerful.

And reckless.

He relied on brute strength and speed, hurling himself at me like a battering ram. But there was a flaw, one even he likely didn't know about. A moment of vulnerability, a chink in his impenetrable assault: three seconds. That was how long his attacks left him exposed before he could recover.

Three seconds was all I needed.