Killing.
It must be fast, precise, ruthless, and completely unexpected.
No matter how brilliant the attack, it all ends the moment it strikes its target.
Lawson froze, startled by the familiar voice, but the combat instincts honed by years of training made him react instantly.
He spun around, swinging his sword toward the sound of something slicing through the air, only to see a shortsword flying toward him. There was no one there.
Just as he swung his sword to block the incoming shortsword, another one pierced his throat from the exact opposite direction.
Real combat was just that simple.
The human body is so fragile. Find an opening, and a single blow can be fatal.
Lawson wasn't dead yet, but he was beyond saving.
He desperately clutched his throat as hot blood gushed between his fingers.
His eyes bulged, fixed on Murphy as he emerged from behind a tree. They were filled with incredulous shock and resentment.
