[10] The Emergence of Brutal Deer (2)

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The corridor felt narrower as our sword exchange grew more intense.

I gripped my blade tightly, my breathing heavy, but my focus unwavering.

"You're quite strong," I said, swinging my sword in a deceptive attack, baiting him into a defensive stance.

The man countered without hesitation—his blade twisted midair, blocking at the perfect angle, causing my strike to veer off-course.

"You're not bad either," he replied calmly before instantly retaliating with a diagonal slash, narrowly missing my throat.

I ducked swiftly, feeling the sharp blade slice through empty air just above my head.

As soon as my right foot touched the ground, I slid sideways, aiming for a horizontal counterattack to his waist.

But—

CLANG!

He parried once again, twisting his wrist to redirect my blade before aiming the tip of his sword directly at my heart.

I pushed my body back, narrowly avoiding the deadly thrust.

Damn it…

This guy was more than just strong.

He wasn't just fast and precise—he was experienced in close combat.

No wasted movements. No clear openings.

This wasn't just a duel—this was a battle where even the slightest mistake meant death.

I swallowed hard, realizing this fight wouldn't end easily.

And worse—

I was starting to lose ground.

The clash continued.

Every time I attacked, he dodged flawlessly.

Every time I defended, his strikes grew heavier.

I tried to find an opening, but he gave me none.

Until—

THUD!

He suddenly kicked my chest, sending me crashing into the corridor wall.

"Ugh!"

Blood dripped from the corner of my lips.

My hands trembled, my chest throbbed in pain, my breathing ragged.

But I couldn't lose.

I forced my body upright, cold determination burning in my gaze.

The man still stood tall, slightly out of breath, but his calm and composed expression remained unshaken.

"You're strong," he admitted, gripping his sword tightly. "But this is where it ends."

I narrowed my eyes, watching his posture shift slightly.

He was going to end this in one strike.

And that meant…

This was my chance.

I steadied my breathing, letting my body relax for a moment.

Then, in a blink of an eye—

He rushed forward, his blade flashing under the dim corridor lights.

I stood still, waiting until the very last moment.

And just as his sword was about to cut into me—

I tilted my body slightly, dodging by mere millimeters.

There.

With lightning-fast reflexes, I slammed the hilt of my sword against his wrist with all my strength.

CRACK!

A sickening crack echoed through the air.

"Guh—!"

His sword slipped from his grip, spiraling into the air.

I didn't waste the opening.

Stepping into his range, I raised my blade—

And slashed.

SLASH!

My sword cut across his chest and shoulder, slicing deeply into his flesh.

Blood splattered onto the floor.

"KHAAH—!"

He staggered backward, clutching his fresh wound in shock.

This time, he was the one being overwhelmed.

I pointed my sword at his throat, keeping him locked in place.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with disbelief—before his lips curled into a faint smile.

"Hah… I see now…" he muttered, panting. "You… are no ordinary man."

I didn't reply, only watching him in silence.

He sighed, then chuckled weakly.

"Damn… I can't win, huh?"

Without waiting for an answer, his legs gave out, his body collapsing to the ground.

Blood pooled beneath him.

I stood still, ensuring that he was truly down for good.

After several seconds of silence, I lowered my blade and exhaled deeply.

'Damn it… that guy was a real pain.'

My hands still shook, my breathing still heavy—but I couldn't stop here.

I straightened my back, redirecting my focus to my true objective.

The Owl-Masked Man.

He was still somewhere in this villa.

I wiped the blood from my blade and moved forward.

Now, I just needed to find that bastard's room.

The reason this fight had been so difficult was because my body wasn't fully optimized for prolonged battles yet.

Up until now, I always ended fights quickly—with lethal, decisive strikes.

But this time?

Against an experienced fighter, with endurance and skill, I was forced into a drawn-out battle.

And in long fights, a single-strike kill strategy wasn't enough.

Especially if I encountered more people like him in the future.

I sighed, feeling the aches and bruises spreading across my body.

'Looks like I need to train my stamina more.'

But now wasn't the time to dwell on that.

I hurried forward, stepping over lifeless bodies, searching for the bastard's quarters.

After memorizing the villa's layout, I finally stopped in front of a grand door.

It was different from the others—more ornate, adorned with silver engravings and a personal emblem.

I didn't hesitate.

Without another thought, I kicked the door open.

The moment I entered, my eyes landed on a revolting scene.

Inside, a middle-aged man stood with a calm, smug expression.

A thin blade rested against my sister's throat.

His face was filled with malice and greed—his rough, wrinkled skin reflecting a life of excess and indulgence.

His short chin was covered in an unkempt beard, while his small, beady eyes gleamed with conceited arrogance.

His crooked nose suggested it had been broken before, and his twisted smirk made me sick to my stomach.

Under the dim lighting, sweat glistened on his forehead—but his demeanor remained eerily composed, as if this was just another game to him.

'Bastard…'

But I didn't react immediately.

I simply stood at the doorway, staring him down from behind my deer mask.

The bloodstains on my clothes, the iron scent of death clinging to me, the emotionless void behind my mask—

It was an image of terror.

The air was silent.

Only the shaky breathing of my sister, the soft rustling of fabric, and the thudding of my heartbeat filled the tense atmosphere.

"Don't come any closer!"

The man's voice finally broke the silence—his tone wavering slightly as I stepped forward.

Under his blade, my sister shook violently, her tear-streaked face pale with terror.

But it wasn't just that which enraged me.

Her clothes—

Thin fabric.

Bare shoulders.

Exposed collarbones.

A dress fit for a courtesan, not a child.

This disgusting bastard…

He hadn't just taken her—he had dressed her up like a whore.

Sickening.

I wanted to kill him.

For some reason, this foreign emotion surged through me, burning hotter than any fire I had ever felt before.