金瓶梅第2部

Tycondrius stabbed at the retreating Tanamar, only for his sword to be deflected downward and his wrist grabbed. The Holy Lancer directed a powerful knee at his face, which Tycon managed to soften by blocking with his offhand palm. He used the momentum of the blow to throw himself back, simultaneously twisting his wrist to escape Tanamar's grasp.

A 'Holy Lance' jabbed at his face-- forcing Tycon to dodge and slip the series of attacks. He deflected the fourth thrust... a noticeably shallow strike.

Tycon was... not a combat class. In a normal combat situation, he often relied on his allies, his skills, his bloodline abilities, and even alternate weaponry. In terms of pure skill... he was being slightly outclassed by the Holy Lancer.

Tanamar smashed the side of his mana spear against a point between Tycon's neck and collar. A normal person would have been knocked out by such a strike.

He believed it was called... the jugular vein, a particularly blood-filled tube important for delivering valuable oxygen from the heart to the head-- or was it vice versa?

(Within milliseconds of thought, he asked his System for clarification. It was the other way.)

Striking the vein with a blunt object or applying force to it in a chokehold would cause a brief bout of unconsciousness in a human. It was far faster and more reliable than strangulation.

Hm.

Tycon struck Tanamar in the jugular vein. The Holy Lancer dropped like a sack of cabbages from a cart.

The mana spear in Tanamar's hands hadn't yet dissipated, but it was fading...

"Hah, seriously..." Tycon chuckled. "I hope you don't think you can protect Athena with just that level of skill... And you don't need to answer because I'm assuming you're unconscious."

With a silver surge of mana, the mana spear solidified. He was still awake. Tycon had miscalculated.

Tycon felt his legs kick up. Tanamar's sweeping spear had struck the back of his heels. Experiencing the sense of weightlessness, he took a deep, annoyed breath as he fell with his back towards the sand.

He supposed that was enough.

"Zenon," Tycon muttered.

A barrier of blurry, swirling mana formed around Tycon.

The sound of shattering glass reverberated throughout the mana barrier. With a wicked shriek of metal scraping against metal, the tip of a mana spear was stopped less than an ilm in front of Tycon's face. If not for Centurion Skyreaper's protective skill, Tanamar's follow-up attack would have impaled him through the eye.

Standing over him, Tanamar looked furious. The youth was nearly frothing at the mouth, his eyes full of hatred and violence.

"I take it back. Your skill level is sufficiently high." Tycon felt like he owed the young man an apology, "It could always be better, of course-- but that's true of all things."

Tanamar pounded the top haft of his weapon downward, the spear tip piercing the sand. Tycon, of course, had moved his head to avoid injury.

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I was being sincere, arse."

"You have a really sarcastic voice, Optio!" Zenon called out. The Librarian probably assumed he was being helpful.

"Oh. My bad," Tanamar twisted his lips and released his grip. The mana spear dissipated, turning into silvery dust caught by the wind.

Tanamar grasped Tycon's wrist and assisted him in standing.

"Thank you for your assistance, Zenon," Tycon lightly inclined his head.

"No problem, Optio. That's what friends are for," Zenon beamed.

"But I'd like to insist that I do not, in fact, have a sarcastic voice," He frowned.

Zenon's smile fell-- very slightly, "Th... there it is again."

Bah. Why did he even try?

He turned to Tanamar, "I've no truly negative comments on your form... Though be advised that you do have a temper."

Tanamar pursed his lips in thought, "Makes sense."

"Nonetheless, well done." Tycon gave Tanamar a cursory observation, finding no major injuries. That was good. Tycon did not wish to reveal his healing ability if it wasn't necessary, "Are you self-taught?"

The Holy Lancer paused for a moment in thought, "Yeah... Yeah, I am."

"Then you're a natural." Tycon was slightly surprised, but nodded in approval, "Even without formal training, all combatants seek to strike faster, strike accurately, retain their balance, and eliminate unnecessary movement."

Tycon placed his hand to his chest... a salute used amongst the members of Sol Invictus, "I applaud your efforts, Holy Lancer Tanamar. You must have come a long way."

Tanamar nodded quietly and crossed his arms. Something seemed to be on his mind. Tycon hoped that he'd learned something of himself. Self-introspection leading to a cultivation breakthrough would benefit their force's overall power.

Quietly returning to Athena's side, the young lady began to animatedly praise his efforts.

"Great job, Tanamar!!!!" She shouted, nearly into his ear. "Wowwww! I didn't know you were that strong!! You did great! Way better than I did!"

Did she really think that?

"Of course, Sir Tycon didn't throw Flame-taken sand into your mouth. Might've been different, if he did!"

Athena shot an obvious glare back at Tycon.

...So she was still upset about that.

Empty night, he was *trying* to teach her something.

Tycon glanced over to the final Vanzano.

⟬ Victorius, Bronze-Rank Human Archer. ⟭

That his class was still an Archer was a minor obstacle. He would need to be retrained to a Warrior or a Scout... However, Victorius still had his reflexes and having received formal training, he would reasonably have retained a basic mastery of swordplay. He'd have to use his offhand, but still, the skills were ingrained into his combat instincts.

No real damage had been incurred by his and Tanamar's duel. They could start immediately.

"Victorius, you're up next."

The blonde man stood up, nursing his injured hand, "Sir Optio, I'd like to pass on this."

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Pass? Mister Victorius, you may not have realized this, but unlike Lady Athena, I did not give you such an option."

"I'm... I'm an Archer, Sir," Victorius tried to argue. With his tone of voice, it sounded like he was well-aware his complaints would fall on deaf ears.

Tycon frowned, "Well, unless you'd like to painstakingly specialize in crossbows you can load and fire in a single hand, I suggest you pick up swordsmanship."

The young man's gaze hardened, "I can't fight, Sir."