Yorkshaw's expression froze for a moment.
It didn't crumble as he had imagined.
The black-haired young man before him, who possessed combat abilities that defied his youthful appearance, seemed not to have used his full strength.
And was deliberately controlling the force of his sword swings within a range Yorkshaw could handle.
Why?
There was no time to think.
The crystal dagger fell once again.
"Ding! Ding! Ding!"
The crisp sound of metal clashing echoed continuously on the deck.
The battle itself had been entirely dominated by the opponent, turning Yorkshaw into a training dummy, with no opportunity to counterattack under the barrage of attacks and intense psychological pressure, only able to passively block.
He even vaguely felt that every block and movement he made was under the opponent's control, like a puppet on strings.
