Chapter 18: The fat aristocrat feels alive

The opponent was strong.

Their lives were at stake.

However, Mitrof remained calm.
Was it due to the growth of his spirit through sublimation?

He did not feel the shiver down his spine that he felt when facing the kobold.

He stepped forward and pierced the wrist of the thick, short arm that held the club.

Surely, the fat was thick, but it did not accumulate around the joints.

The rapier pierced sharply, like a point.

No matter how round and fat you are, with the right location, everything will work out.

Mitrof and the troll were similar—both round and fat, storing fat, and ugly.
Therefore, Mitrof knew exactly how to fight.

The troll groaned in frustration.

Mitrof pulled out his rapier.

The troll tried to knock Mitrof down with his club.

But Mitrof was no longer there.

After the club passed, he stepped back in and hit the heavy and defenseless troll.

“That’s right—fat people move slowly.”

Mitrof stepped forward and stabbed the troll’s right elbow.


and strikes again.

The stance is fixed.

With a two-hit combo, he aims for the troll’s elbow tendon.

The troll roared and swung his arm.
Mitrof moved, dodged, and distanced himself.

“You and I are both fat, but I’m faster.”

wrist, elbow, wrist, wrist, elbow.

In the interlude of the movements, Mitrof accurately aimed at Troll’s arm.

Only a small point penetrated the thick layer of fat.

There was no flashy blood flow or crushing of the troll, but Mitrof’s heavy thrusting sword attack broke the troll’s right arm.

a loud sound.

A stone club fell to the floor.

The troll’s right arm hung limply.

The troll squealed in discontent.

Thump, thump, thump!

He stomps his feet like a spoiled child.

A scream was echoing in the corridor.

Mitrof jumped away, covering his ears.
The sound was so close that it could have burst his eardrums.

The troll breathed heavily and glared at Mitrof.
He clenched his teeth, drooled, and sobbed.

He was in a position as if he were about to charge and collide.

Mitrof lowered his hips, preparing to dodge immediately by jumping sideways.

The troll’s right arm was crushed, but with that huge body, his entire body was a weapon.

If he collided, he would be thrown and crushed, and if the arm swung, his bones would shatter.

Dodging was pointless if he didn’t hit back, but it felt as if he was wearing down his life force with each dodge.

Mitrof did not deliver a decisive blow.

Although he managed to crush the troll’s right arm, he had to avoid fatal attacks and strike repeatedly.

He couldn’t aim at his head or neck, which were located high up.

If Mitrof wanted to take down the troll, he had no choice but to pile up a ground game and deal with the immense pressure of dying from even one hit.

Despite being in a seemingly advantageous position against the troll, the reality was only a tightrope walk, and the rope Mitrof was trying to cross was extremely thin.

Due to the short, intense exercise, Mitrof felt his heart pounding painfully.
Blood was circulating throughout his body.
His whole body was hot, and sweat was flowing down his face.

The tightrope walk, risking his life, had thrilled Mitrof’s mind, and his excitement had taken over his brain.

Mitrof’s body was floating, feeling light as a feather.

‘Come at me,’ he thought.

He was willing to fight as much as it took, always ready to dodge.

He was surprised to find that he had such a combative side within him.
At the same time, his usual cowardly and nervous self told him that it was impossible.

He couldn’t catch his breath.

“Buhi, buhi,” His clogged nose made an odd sound.

The piglet was facing a giant pig, hesitating whether to fight or flee.

Mitrof knew he wouldn’t be able to win against the troll if it attacked.
While he stacked up attacks with the aim of 100, the troll kept repeating 100 incessantly.
Who would be brave enough to bet their life on that gamble?

‘Please, just run away,’ Mitrof hoped.

But the troll dropped its hips with a “Zuzu,”

‘Damn, I get it—I’ll do it.’

The moment Mitrof grasped his rapier again, a line shot through.

It was Grace’ arrow.

A scream.
The troll jerked its head back.

“Be gone!”

The arrow had pierced the troll’s right eye accurately.

Thrashing and struggling, the troll collided with the wall and fled into the darkness of the passage.

Silence followed.

Mitrof and Grace stared into the darkness, motionless.

Once they confirmed that the troll was not returning, they collapsed on the spot.

They faced each other.

Their faces were twisted with tension.
The seriousness of the situation was absurdly funny.

Without any particular reason, they burst into laughter almost simultaneously.

“Giggle, giggle, giggle.”

“Bwah, hihi, hihi.”

They kept repeating their laughter as they laughed from the bottom of their stomachs.

They had survived.

For some reason, the feeling of that realization was funny.

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