Daniel marked Vincent closely, his fists coiled like bedimmed vipers, striking with lethal precision.
In contrast, Vincent floundered, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, like a blind man wading through thick fog.
The first few seconds overwhelmed him. He had probably never fought like this before—never realized how much lightning-fast thinking and instinctive execution were required.
The king's attacks left no room for breath, no space to retreat. Yet Vincent held on, arms shielding his head with the stubbornness of a tortoise.
Daniel frowned slightly. Then, with a sharp jab, he shattered Vincent's disgraceful defenses—the impact reverberating through the latter's bones like a thunderclap.
Staggering backward, Vincent tried to retaliate, but Daniel was already in his face, fists howling in like a storm.
Blows rained down, each one calculated, each one merciless.
With every strike, Vincent's resolve wavered. His strength faded like a dying ember. His mind scrambled for a solution, but the storm of fists allowed no time to think.
He bit his inner lip angrily. Desperation fueled his futile counters, but Daniel's mastery left him no openings.
With nowhere to run, Vincent huddled behind feeble defenses, his arms barely absorbing the relentless barrage.
Daniel's brow furrowed in disgust before he lunged—a blur of motion.
Each punch landed with cobra-like precision, slipping through Vincent's weak guard, hammering his ribs, slamming into his jaw.
He staggered, limbs flailing like a drunkard's. He had never—never—faced such an onslaught before.
Daniel's attacks came in merciless waves, fluid and seamless, overwhelming his every attempt to fight back.
A straight right cross smashed into Vincent's mouth—blood and spit flying. Before he could recover, an uppercut detonated under his chin, snapping his head back viciously.
'Crap…'
His ears rang. His vision swam. Warm blood filled his mouth.
He had drastically underestimated the King of Mereung.
But he'd be damned if he didn't land at least one hit.
[You are using Swift Serpent Strike]
Gritting his teeth, Vincent lunged forward with a desperate jab, his movements sharpening—his speed suddenly snake-like.
The strike slid past Daniel's defenses and drilled into his unguarded midsection.
A solid impact. A real hit.
For the first time, Daniel's face twisted in shock as he staggered back a step.
'What? That punch just now?'
Vincent wasn't supposed to be this fast, this sharp. Not after barely a minute of fighting.
Daniel tilted his head, his expression darkening.
"Are you sure you've never fought before?" His voice came low, almost a growl. "Don't lie to me, you bastard."
Vincent wiped the blood from his lips but said nothing.
By now, he understood.
'If I don't start using my skills instinctively while he attacks, I'm dead.'
Daniel's smile curled into something eerie, something almost predatory.
"Don't bother answering," he murmured, rolling his fists open and closed. "It doesn't matter. You're still standing after all my hits, so either I've gone rusty… or you're tougher than you look."
Seizing the moment, Vincent lunged forward like a blizzard.
"How petty," Daniel sneered, bracing himself for the attack.
Vincent feinted left—then pivoted right in a burst of viper-like speed.
His body moved on pure instinct.
And the system responded just as fast:
[You are using Uppercut]
His fist rocketed upward, fueled by desperation and fury.
Daniel's eyes widened. He had fallen for it.
Vincent's empowered uppercut crashed into his jaw, snapping his head back brutally.
Daniel staggered. The taste of blood bloomed in his mouth.
Then his neck twisted back unnaturally—like an immortal zombie resetting itself. Bones cracked sickeningly as he rolled his head left and right.
Then he smiled.
"Well, well…" His tongue flicked over his lips, tasting the blood. "Not one, but two hits?"
He began to clap slowly.
"Alright. My bad," he said, his voice light but laced with menace. "I didn't take you seriously. But now…" His expression darkened. "I will."
A palpable shift in the air.
The weight of the atmosphere changed, thickening like an unseen force pressing down.
Vincent tensed, his fists tightening instinctively.
And then—
Daniel exploded forward.
He crossed the space between them in an instant, too fast for Vincent's eyes to follow.
Vincent reacted on raw instinct, throwing up his guard. His mind reeled to catch up.
But no attack came.
Daniel had stopped just short, his glare piercing, predatory.
A flicker of movement—
And suddenly, a fist drove into Vincent's gut.
Deep. Brutal.
Pain erupted. The wind burst from his lungs in an agonized gasp.
He crumpled to his knees, gasping for air, his entire torso screaming in agony.
Daniel loomed over him, his earlier strikes now looking like child's play.
"Get up," he spat. "I'm not done."
Vincent struggled onto shaky legs, and Daniel let him.
Then—
Vincent struck.
An uppercut—
Daniel's head tilted back.
But this time, he was ready.
"You think the same attack will work on me twice?" His voice curled with condescension.
His foot shot out, plowing into Vincent's stomach.
Vincent folded in half again.
But this time, Daniel didn't let him drop.
A hand grabbed his collar, yanking him up.
Then the real punishment began.
Blow after blow—each strike precise, ruthless, breaking past Vincent's failing guard.
His ribs screamed. His jaw throbbed. Every nerve in his body rang with agony.
Desperate, he threw a wild haymaker.
Daniel ducked—easily.
A counterstrike buried itself into Vincent's exposed side.
He staggered, gasping.
"Come on," Daniel taunted, his voice brimming with wicked amusement. "You raised my hopes up. Don't tell me that's all you've got."
Vincent spat blood, his hands trembling as he wiped his mouth.
His breath came ragged.
His muscles burned.
And yet—his eyes flickered with something stubborn.
A twisted realization gripped his mind.
This guy—
Daniel—
He was a madman.