Inhaling sharply, Artorias' head lowered slightly as he glanced at his hands. Once pristine and immaculate, they were now covered in blood.
His blood.
Lifting his head, his gaze fell on the youth before him. Not much better off, the only difference being the shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
To an ordinary observer, it wouldn't be wrong to call it a standoff. But Artorias couldn't accept that.
Wouldn't.
Every second that passed in this battle, he could feel the weight of humiliation pressing down on him.
A B-rank being reduced to this?
By a mere D-rank?
Artorias exhaled heavily as every detail of the battle replayed through his mind.
At first, he had held a clear advantage. The youth's raw force was slightly superior, but his combat style had been rough and unpolished, an amalgamation of experiences that should never have been enough against a B-rank who had refined his own techniques for decades.
