“Bear in mind, Driden. Orcs are strong. They won’t die from some half-hearted attack; they’ll fight back with persistence. Make sure to cut their throats to finish them off,” a voice from an old memory burned inside Driden’s mind.1

Two things that guided the tip of Driden’s blade—that voice and his instinct. If he mindlessly obeyed that voice and his instinct, he would eventually find his enemies begging for mercy on the ground in front of him. Depending on how he felt, he would kill them or let them live on a whim. After that, he would go off in search of another opponent. That had always been his routine, and that should have been the case this time as well.0

However, a tremendous force pushed back Driden’s dual swords with a clang. Driden tightened his grip on his two swords and moved with great dexterity. His dual swords moved like a dance. He swung them rhythmically, targeting his enemy’s opening with the perfect timing. All of his attacks were usually spot on, yet when he struck his enemy’s exposed core this time, he was flung back again.0

This orc was different from his previous opponents. Driden was falling out of his usual rhythm, and his expression stiffened. The orc Driden was facing had a ridiculously large sword, but he moved unbelievably fast. The blade of the orc’s huge sword moved swiftly from right to left and then from left to right. It was swinging about freely in Driden’s line of sight, yet it was impossible for Driden to gauge its trajectory....0