Hank's pupils contracted slightly, and his enraged expression gradually faded. His gaze shifted from Sean to the longsword in Sean's hand.
The blade emitted a faint radiance, with occasional flashes of green, blue, and yellow light. Though subtle, it was dazzling enough for those present.
An enchanted weapon!
Hank slowly retracted and lowered his right fist, and his gaze once again returned to Sean.
A few drops of blood appeared on the first joint of his four fingers of his right hand. It was a very minor wound.
This wound was so minor that, even if ignored, the outer skin layer would automatically heal in a few seconds—given Hank's physique.
However, the appearance of this wound represented something extraordinary.
Because it was a genuine wound.
"So, you have an enchanted weapon. No wonder you dare to be so arrogant," Hank sneered but didn't foolishly continue his reckless attack at this moment.
He was well aware of his advantages—his imposing physique and great strength. However, he currently didn't have a suitable weapon.
As a guardian of the merchant guild, he had survived until now not just because of his powerful fists but also because he possessed some wits. In this situation, he would not rashly attack someone wielding an enchanted weapon, even if it was a low-grade bronze-level enchanted weapon.
"Luck is also part of strength."
Cecilia, now standing beside Sean, slightly raised her head so that her eyes could meet Hank's. Although she was just a child, the impression she gave was not one of looking up to Hank but rather of looking down on him with an air of superiority. In this moment, that deep-seated arrogance, inherent in ancient nobility, was thoroughly displayed by Cecilia.
"Of course, beings like you, humanoid creatures, certainly wouldn't understand the meaning of this phrase. Well, from the beginning, we never intended for you to comprehend the profound language and literature of humanity."
Cecilia emphasized the words "humanoid creatures" with a heavy bite, and her clear childlike voice carried a mocking tone. With just a few words, she once again pushed Hank to the brink of rage.
"If you merely wish for Sean to put down his weapon and fight you unarmed, then I advise you to cancel this foolish idea now."
With that, she patted her own clothes. "Honestly, I wonder if foolishness is contagious."
The cruelty and sarcasm of the nobility were performed to perfection by Cecilia.
Hank, who had calmed down a moment ago, clenched his fists once more. If possible, he really wanted to punch this little girl to death.
With a hateful glance, he looked at Sean and sneered, "So? You say you want to have a fight with me, and that means you'll put down your weapon while I won't? Haha, you truly live up to your reputation as a mercenary who can traverse the Starfall Forest."
Compared to Cecilia, this level of sarcasm was just kindergarten-level!
Sean looked at Hank, this burly man, and couldn't help but wonder if his brain was truly damaged. He was clearly a muscle-bound guy who wasn't good with words, yet he insisted on challenging Cecilia, a legitimate noble with exceptional magical talent, in terms of linguistic logic and sarcasm. This was practically equivalent to suicide.
"Someone can actually be this foolish," Cecilia widened her eyes, making an exaggerated facial expression. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you're not a human. I really shouldn't expect human-level intelligence from a humanoid creature." With that, she turned to Roen, wearing a pitiful expression. "Doesn't the Black Cat Guild sell smart potions? Why did they only give him a name and not provide him with a bottle regularly? Maybe there's no cure for his condition?"
A teeth-gritting sound echoed.
"Cecilia, if you keep this up, he'll be completely at your mercy," Sean chuckled, looking somewhat indulgent as he gazed at Cecilia. However, when his gaze once again shifted to Hank, it was filled with nothing but murderous intent. "Let's go. I know you guys have set up camp outside the city. Go get your weapons. After I deal with this mongrel, I'll come to discuss the matter of payment with the Black Cat Guild."
Suddenly, Roen felt a chill running down his spine. He turned somewhat dazedly to Fox, who shook his head with a bitter smile.
The situation had completely deviated from their expectations, and this duel had become inevitable.
"Alright!" Hank's gaze sharpened as he exuded a killing intent. "I'll show you that the weak should behave like the weak!"
The parties involved turned and left, paying no attention to Roen, the rightful host.
The temporary camp that the Black Cat Guild had rebuilt was indeed in the outskirts of Arthur City. It was a simple camp with fewer than thirty people in total, and nearly half of them had varying degrees of injuries.
When these people saw Hank and the others return, they came out to greet them spontaneously. However, upon sensing the killing intent emanating from Hank, very few dared to approach. Clearly, in the eyes of these people, Hank also held a certain level of authority. Perhaps that was why he firmly held onto his position as a commander.
However, at this moment, Sean had no intention of pondering Hank's authority.
Initially, he had just waited for Roen and the others to suffer losses and then come back to seek his help.
Even if there were suspicious thoughts about him, he had stayed at the inn. Later on, although the situation had developed somewhat unexpectedly, the script had still followed the direction Sean had in mind.
He had only wanted command of the team to make it easier to tackle the dungeon. But now, it had turned into a duel, and Sean was genuinely angered.
What Hank should never have done was to attempt to harm Cecilia because he had long considered her as family. Family, that was Sean's untouchable bottom line.
Hank entered a tent big enough for four people, and after a while, he emerged carrying a long-handled warhammer. Just as Sean had anticipated, Hank was indeed a warrior skilled in using long weapons.
In fact, back in the inn when Roen had shouted Hank's name, Sean had already obtained detailed data about the enemy before him.
[Name: Hank]
[Race: Half-Orc (Bear Tribe)]
[Combat Profession: Warrior (Tier 3)]
[Personal Attributes — Strength: 33 (35); Endurance: 25 (28); Agility: 16 (22); Intelligence: 15 (18); Willpower: 20 (23)]
A warrior, an advanced profession in the tenth tier, known for its formidable strength.
Sean was almost intimately familiar with the various tiered professions in "Miracle." Thus, after just a glance at Hank's personal attributes, he had already deduced how diluted his bloodline was.
The maximum strength limit for a normal adult human was ten, while for a regular bear tribe orc, the maximum strength growth limit was thirty. As a half-orc from the bear tribe, the fluctuation ranged from eighteen to twenty-five.
However, Hank's racial strength growth limit was surprisingly only fourteen, based on reverse calculation from the maximum growth limit of twelve for a level-ten warrior, minus the limits of a first-tier mercenary and second-tier warrior.
This indicated that his bloodline strength was nearly nonexistent.
In contrast, Sean, despite being employed as a Scholar, remained at level zero due to a lack of experience points for distribution.
However, taking into account the various attribute enhancements from his equipment, Sean currently had twenty-two points in strength, sixteen in agility, twenty in intelligence, fifteen in wisdom, and fifteen in willpower.
Although these attributes seemed incomparable to Hank's, the issue was that Sean's warrior level was only at tier five and was a second-tier profession. Nevertheless, his agility had already comfortably surpassed Hank's.
For a swordsman, this was more than sufficient.
Charles's sword was slowly drawn from its sheath.
The ring Sean wore on his finger, "The Thinker," emitted a faint light that was invisible to outsiders. At this moment, Sean had completely calmed down, and all external sounds had disappeared. In his eyes, the entire world contained only one person: Hank.
Focus!
It was hard for anything to distract your attention (casting is less likely to be interrupted). This "casting is less likely to be interrupted" wasn't just useful for mages. In a game, there would undoubtedly be more precise descriptions, but this was the real world now! In this real world, as long as there was combat, it could be considered "casting," so this effect was equally valid for Sean at this moment.
As long as he wasn't disrupted by external forces, he wouldn't be easily interrupted.
"You can beg for mercy now, and there's a chance," Sean's serene composure, like still waters, made Hank feel somewhat uneasy. He spoke involuntarily but failed to realize the hidden threat within his words. "If we really start fighting, I won't show any mercy!"
"Don't worry," Sean casually waved Charles's sword a few times, testing its feel, and nonchalantly replied, "I'll spare your men."
"If you're so eager to die, I'll grant your wish!"
Hank clenched his right hand, and immediately, he charged toward Sean, moving like a raging bear, his imposing presence stunning. However, Sean's gaze remained unwavering throughout, regarding this astonishing display as nothing more than a clown trying to win favor, causing no ripples in his heart. He kept his eyes fixed on Hank, calculating the distance between them.
Ten meters!
Eight meters!
Six meters!
Four meters!
When they were just four meters apart, Sean finally made his move.
It was as swift as lightning!
Sean dashed towards Hank like a lightning bolt, and for him, covering that four-meter distance seemed as simple as taking a single step!
A sprint!
In this range, Sean could effortlessly control his movements, utilizing the momentum and speed boost of his dash. Conversely, Hank, due to maintaining his running stance and building up his own momentum, exposed an unexpected vulnerability in that split second!
Halt! Pivot! Crouch! Thrust the sword!
Target: the throat!