Crockta got up again.0

“One thousand nine hundred eighty,” declared Xantimur.2

“…Again,” said Crockta after he took a few deep breaths.0

He shook off the sweat dripping down his face. He was too tired to move, and all of his joints screamed in pain. His neck felt stiff from tensing up in all the near-death encounters with Xantimur’s blade; the blade had grazed past his neck numerous times.0

“I thought you were going to turn Ogre Slayer into Dragon Slayer? Have you already given up?” asked Xantimur.0

“Not yet!” shouted Crockta.1

As he focused deeply, mana rose from the Ogre Slayer, and his mind entered the pinnacle realm. Time slowed down as he became one with the world, and he began to break the laws of the universe with his greatsword.0

Crockta swung his greatsword with the pure intent of killing his opponent. Xantimur swung his sword at the same time. Within their slow world, their minds clashed against each other countless times. All of the different possible trajectories that their swords could take played out in their minds and collapsed between them.0

Now, at the end of it all, the final stroke of destiny was unfolding before them through their swords. It was a seemingly inevitable conclusion. Their battle ended with Crockta’s sword slicing through the air and Xantimur’s blade hovering by Crockta’s chest. It was a crushing defeat that did not allow excuses.0

“One thousand nine hundred eighty-one,” said Xantimur.0

Crockta had died almost two thousand times today. He calmed his breath and reviewed what had just happened in his mind. However, he still couldn’t tell how he should have responded. So, instead of thinking, he raised his greatsword yet again.7

“Again,” said Crockt...0