Hawkins nodded and turned back to face the heavenly soldier.
"What are you staring at? You're not getting past me!"
The soldier brandished his regulated blade, eyes ablaze with defiance. His strategy was straightforward: if outmatched, retreat. Voicing such bravado might please the gods within the tent and bring him a fortune—perhaps even a promotion. After all, no one aspires to be a perpetual underlying, ordered about at whim.
With a muffled thud, the soldier was slashed to the ground.
Mike, twirling his knife, glanced at Hawkins. "Was this foe worth your long contemplation before striking? Have you slowed down since you found a wife?"
Hawkins had no retort; his opponent had already retreated.
