Calmahart swung his axe like a madman. Each swing was bigger and more intense than the last.0

Crockta smiled as his Ogre Slayer flew toward the chieftain’s stomach. “Bul’taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!”2

His greatsword and the double-headed axe clashed. The tide of the battle constantly shifted as their struggles continued. Orcs behind them shouted battle cries and hurled rocks up to the sky, and the arrows of dark elves rained down on them.0

The orcs, who had grown more vicious with the sorcerers’ spells, climbed up the city walls and charged. Despite the brutal death match around them, Crockta and Calmahart’s eyes didn’t waver because letting one’s guard down meant immediate death. The two looked only at each other.1

The axe and greatsword danced again. As the weapons clashed, blood and sparks flew in the air.0

“You can’t beat me,” said Calmahart.1

Without a word, Crockta twirled his greatsword and slashed his opponent’s chest, causing blood to drip down Calmahart’s broad chest. He wiped the blood with his fingers.0

“Can you bet everything you have to become stronger?” smirked Calmahart. “That’s what I did.”1

His wound was already gone. “You! You can’t beat me!” cried out Calmahart.0

Crockta concentrated and entered the realm of the Pinnacle. The world slowed down, but he sped up. It was a ceaselessly static world where the arrows flying in the sky looked as if they were no longer moving. Within it, Crockta swung his Ogre Slayer.0

But Calmahart had also entered...0