This is absolutely not an opponent I can handle!
The mysterious, high-pitched wolf howl accompanied by a gust of wind that pricked the skin surged around, the suffocating pressure causing York Shaw to nearly lose the ability to think calmly, only instinctively thinking this under the will to survive.
For adventurers, many times there's no need for direct confrontation; just based on the visual impression of the opponent's performance in battle is enough to recognize the disparity in strength.
If one cannot even clearly see the specific movements of the enemy in front of them, only glimpsing vague afterimages.
When the crew behind had been utterly defeated, and he just reacted.
York Shaw felt this battle seemed unnecessary to continue.
Offering everything he had, trampling so-called dignity underfoot, abandoning all resistance and begging for mercy, might perhaps scrape a chance of survival.
Otherwise, what awaited him would only be a meaningless death.
