By now, he no longer had the high tolerance for errors that he once had.
"Why do you think I would lose just because I don't possess the power of the Goddess of Life?" he surveyed his surroundings, where the moonlight scattered through stained glass fell upon a statue of a goddess streaming with bloody tears.
"Because you are weaker than me," Dracula asserted, his Sword of the Blasphemous Knight hung low, advancing step by step toward Ahtal, sparks flying as the blade scraped against the ground.
In terms of strength, he had surpassed the limits of human capability.
While Ahtal had only just reached the limits of human capacity, there was a fundamental difference in strength between them, as long as Ahtal lacked the immortality bestowed by the Prayer of Life.
Then he thought winning would be as easy as turning over his hand.
"Boom—!!" Count Dracula's speed suddenly increased, his Sword of the Blasphemous Knight slicing through the air, stabbing toward Ahtal's neck.
