Alfonso advanced with a sword in his hand. But when he reached a suitable distance, he stopped and stared intently at Azol, who returned the gaze without blinking.
"I know one of us will die today... but curiosity gets the better of me. Did Athor screw your mother, or did your father screw a cow?" Alfonso tried to provoke Azol, but Azol remained unmoved. Alfonso began circling Azol slowly.
"Yes, I know. Fathers cook, and sons are forced to eat," Alfonso sneered as he suddenly lunged at Azol, aiming his sword straight at his heart.
"…"
Azol raised his hammer, ready to clash. But Alfonso quickly changed direction and rolled to the side with force, causing a wound on his left hand.
Alfonso stopped and inspected the wound. Luckily, it was on his palm, not very serious despite the bleeding showing no signs of stopping. He tore a part of his worn-out shirt in two layers and carefully bandaged above the wound, covering it with whatever remained, but the bleeding persisted.
"Damn it," Alfonso cursed. His skill with the sword was nearly nonexistent; this was the first time he wielded one. Yet he was used to playing with sticks like swords since childhood.
Calmly, he shifted his gaze back to Azol, who stayed still, not moving—a clear sign he was a seasoned fighter. Alfonso thought for a moment, but before he could fully realize, Azol charged forward with his hammer.
"Ah!"
Alfonso bent quickly, but a powerful kick sent him backward. Trying to regain balance, he bent and planted his feet firmly, but to no avail—he kept sliding backward.
Upon regaining balance from the push, Alfonso rolled to the side. Anyone in Azol's place would never give their opponent a moment's rest.
"Boom!"
The hammer slammed into the ground where Alfonso had just stood. Alfonso's earlier conclusion was correct.
"Damn," Alfonso quickly stood and put as much distance between himself and Azol as possible.
'Damn, this won't go in my favor if it continues,' he thought while staring at Azol. Then his gaze shifted to the wound on his hand—the blood had already reached the sword's blade. Seeing this, a sick smile spread across Alfonso's face.
'Now or never,' he thought before charging at Azol, who raised his hammer in response and aimed it at Alfonso's head, eager to finish the fight quickly.
But Alfonso stopped just before entering the hammer's range. The hammer's edge grazed Alfonso's forehead, opening a wound.
The hammer's tip made a mark.
Alfonso was allowed to advance again toward Azol, who failed to change the hammer's direction quickly enough. Alfonso aimed his sword directly at Azol's heart. But before the blade could pierce, a hand caught the sword.
Azol had dropped his hammer to block the deadly blow. The sword pierced his palm, causing heavy bleeding, but he didn't care.
"Ughghgh!"
A strong punch landed on Alfonso's stomach, breaking some ribs.
But Alfonso did not surrender to pain or even blink. Only his eyes burned with the hunger for battle.
What did he have to fear? Death? Ha! Death had been his childhood companion.
Pain? Ha! It was enough to make a soul weep.
Loss? When had he ever owned anything worth losing? Even life itself had long since lost its value.
His life was nothing but suffering after suffering—mental, physical, psychological. The world did not spare him. God was too exalted and glorious to care about a bug like him. Ha!
When cancer struck him, he prayed, cried, and complained to God—not for love of life or fear of death, but to achieve something worthy before he perished.
And even after God answered and he lived, his health worsened again. His mind shattered, and he staggered between consciousness and madness, becoming a distorted beast from within.
He spent days praying for a quick, simple death, even if it meant his fate would be the worst pits of hell.
He thought of suicide over and over daily—even tried several times.
But he couldn't do it—perhaps because of a false hope that things would improve one day.
Hope meant there was meaning—maybe.
That greatness would come after.
That he might be special. That some compensation awaited him…
Hope… a slow poison,
seeping through veins like an illusion,
killing you gently while you smile.
.....
Ignoring the blow, Alfonso threw a powerful punch with his right hand, aiming for Azol's eye.
"Ah!"
Azol staggered back from the hit. Alfonso took advantage of the moment, spinning around and grabbing his sword with his right hand, then forcefully pushing Azol's injured left fist away with his left hand, breaking Azol's grip on the sword.
'Haah... it's only a matter of time now,' Alfonso thought, retreating as far as possible.
Azol regained balance and charged through the air toward Alfonso. Alfonso opened his eyes and quickly bent, pretending to want to retreat, grabbing some dirt.
Noticing this, Azol partially closed his eyes, narrowing his vision enough to see clearly, and prepared to push the dirt aside and continue the attack.
Alfonso smiled and rolled strongly to the side. From the start, his goal had been to evade the attack.
"Ugh!"
Azol gritted his teeth. Dealing with a cunning opponent was always a headache. He readied himself to charge again with greater force—but
"…!?"
Sudden dizziness hit him. He began to lose focus little by little. But that didn't stop him.
Finishing this fight as quickly as possible was his priority.
"…!?"
He tried to strike with his usual kick and charge, but his reaction was weak. Still, he gritted his teeth and continued the attack.
As usual, Alfonso dodged and rolled to the side with a smile. His plan was working. He had spent hours chewing various herbs provided by Albert to prepare a poison capable of paralyzing nerves.
He ground them in his mouth. Had he swallowed the mixture, he would have been paralyzed himself.
He then smeared the lower part of his shirt with the poison, folded it, and used a thread to secure the fold. He deliberately cut his hand at first to justify bandaging it and to use the blood as a carrier for the poison. That's why he carefully placed the poisoned part over the wound and kept his left hand lowered to mix the blood with the poison so it would travel to the sword's blade that had wounded Azol's hand. Their blood mingled, and Alfonso even used his left hand to apply poison directly on Azol's wound to ensure the effect.