The sheer force of Greedy Wolf’s blade sent the General’s weapon slamming back against his own body. The impact didn’t stop there-it shoved him backward, crashing into the conference table.
The massive table flipped into the air before slamming into the wall, where his momentum finally came to a halt.
It had to be said-Greedy Wolf’s strength was nothing short of terrifying. No wonder he could effortlessly take down those two battle-hardened black fighters.
Their gazes locked once more. Greedy Wolf’s eyes drilled into the General’s soul as he pronounced each word with deliberate menace: “The first cut!”
As soon as he spoke, he swiftly pulled back his dagger and swiped it across the General’s arm.
Swish! The blade sliced through flesh with surgical precision, and blood instantly seeped through the man’s clothing.
But Greedy Wolf wasn’t done. Without hesitation, he growled, “The second cut!”
This time, he didn’t just slice-he stabbed, aiming directly for the man’s chest.
Yet, just before the blade could pierce flesh, the General grabbed the hilt in a desperate move and retaliated with a thunderous kick.
His foot, fueled by a primal force, slammed into Greedy Wolf’s chest, sending him staggering back several steps.
Instinctively, Greedy Wolf touched his chest where the blow landed, while his opponent raised his short blade, a defiant smirk on his face. “You’re good, but you’re not crushing me just yet,” the General sneered.
Greedy Wolf chuckled coldly, dusting off his chest as if the kick had merely annoyed him. Then, without warning, he charged again.
Clang! Clang! Their blades clashed in a blur of motion. Though not as blindingly fast as Kayden Scott, to the few elders watching, their speed was nothing short of lightning-an elegant storm of steel and fury.
Each exchange of blows sent sparks flying, a mesmerizing spectacle for the onlookers.
This series of events was a feast for the eyes of the elderly onlookers. They were members of the Martial Arts Association and held a distinct reverence for Seclela’s fighting techniques.
Colson Eduardo, ever the opportunist, whipped out his phone to record the action. Kayden Scott’s earlier takedown of a burly opponent had been impressive but too quick-one move, and it was over. There had been no meat to dissect.
This? This was different. Two evenly matched fighters in a deadly dance-combat perfection!
“Second cut!”
“Third cut!”
Greedy Wolf’s voice rang out intermittently, a chilling counterpoint to the grating sound of blade meeting flesh. Each proclamation was accompanied by the sickening schlick of a knife sinking into the General’s body.
By the third cut, the General’s movements slowed, his strength waning as blood flowed freely.
Greedy Wolf seized the opportunity, his dagger flashing mercilessly.
“Fourth cut.”
“Fifth cut.”
Though the General was a formidable warrior, perhaps even a top-tier Warrior, he was no match for the overwhelming situation. With dead subordinates and the looming fear of escape, his focus crumbled.
Greedy Wolf didn’t care. Thirteen cuts meant thirteen cuts.
By the time the tenth cut landed, the General’s body was a canvas of gore-his chest, stomach, legs, and arms riddled with wounds.
Blood soaked his clothes, pooling at his feet.
The once-imposing figure now stood trembling, leaning against a table for support.
Greedy Wolf, standing three meters away, stared him down with icy detachment. “Three more cuts,” he declared coldly.
Without allowing a moment’s respite, he moved forward, blade gleaming. The General mustered his remaining strength for a feeble defense, but it was futile.
Boom! A kick to the gut sent the General crashing into the wall.
Greedy Wolf closed the distance in a flash, delivering a devastating sidekick to his head. The General collapsed like a ragdoll.
Greedy Wolf wasted no time. He dropped to his knees, plunging his blade into the man’s back with brutal efficiency.
“Eleventh cut!”
“Twelfth cut!”
“Thirteenth cut!”
As the final stab landed, Greedy Wolf stood, planting a boot firmly on the General’s mutilated back. Blood oozed from the wounds beneath his foot, drawing a pitiful wail from the defeated man.
Greedy Wolf sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “This is what happens when you challenge Seclela.”
He raised his gaze to the elders, his posture exuding the dominance of a king atop his mountain.
“Take this ‘glory’ back to your leader,” he commanded, his tone venomous. “Tell him, anyone who dares set foot on Seclela’s soil will meet the same fate. His brother? Dead. Himself? Same end!”
With that, Greedy Wolf removed his boot from the man’s back and walked away, each step a statement of unshakable pride.
The General lay there, his body trembling with pain, his dignity in shreds.
He bit back his anguish, silently vowing to return one day and drown this land in blood.
Greedy Wolf’s thirteen cuts had been deliberate, avoiding vital organs. Killing him outright would have been easy-one thrust to the heart or a quick slice to the throat. But this wasn’t about a quick kill. This was about sending a message.
For Greedy Wolf, this was merely routine; he found nothing extraordinary about it. However, the elderly observers on the sidelines were already won over, their hearts filled with admiration, their words overflowing with praise.
After dealing with the General, Greedy Wolf strode over to the wall, retrieved the small blade embedded there, and respectfully cupped his hands toward the elders. Then, turning to the General, he declared, “Go back! Go and report to your leader everything that happened here today. If he has the guts, tell him to come at me with all he’s got! And while you’re at it, remind him-there’s only one outcome to declaring war!”
“And that is-death!”
With those words, Greedy Wolf walked away without a glance back.
Colson Eduardo, still filming, turned to Mr. Vincent with a look of awe. “Who is this guy?” he asked breathlessly.
Mr. Vincent smiled, a trace of pride evident in his expression.
“Greedy Wolf, deputy commander of Seclela,” he replied.
Pride surged through the room, an unspoken tribute to their nation’s strength.