Just as they had predicted, Lemi got back on his feet and insisted on fighting the fourth round. This time, he looked as serious as one could be, the prestige of his surname and the threat of being expelled from the aristocratic circle pushing him to his limits.
Eyes bloody, face red, muscles tightened so far that his veins were popping out on the visible parts of his skin; Lemi Lightfoot seemed to have no resemblance to the cocky young man who had held the tempo of this duel in the first round.
From the edge of the combat circle, Mir stared back at the middle-aged bodyguard for a moment before the bell rang, announcing the beginning of the fourth round.
Lemi didn't approach as casually as his prior attempts to take Mir down. Coming to a stop about fifteen meters away, he tried to create a semi-circular area to push Mir backwards using his mutations.
