kcfgogbfalgfl
- That's how it is, little one, - says the Dawn Knight to his squire, stripped to the waist and stitching up a wound on his mighty torso - he didn't trust doctors much. - Remember - you should always have backup plans. I had them, but even so - the chaotic nature of life sometimes destroys them against your will. And I'm not much of a team player either. But what matters is how easily you can get back into the fight. As long as you're not dead, you're alive. And that means there's always a chance to turn things around, - he shifts his gaze from the wound to the little guy. - But I totally cut them down, didn't I? Ha-ha-ha-ha! Like some avenger! Collected all the commander heads! I try to do things with style, you know, life is an ordinary thing, and there's not much beauty in it. Except for the kind we can perform ourselves - and then it starts to play with new colors. So... one hundred ninety-nine confirmed eliminations. Who will be the two hundredth? - for a brief moment his consciousness is intercepted by a bipolar-fragmentary "worm". - And how many do you have? I can see you're good with a sword?
- And did the master get anything worthwhile in exchange for these bruises and scratches? Style is style, but essentially injuries for the amusement of a bloodthirsty audience. I think we could have fought and you would have understood my level, but I have no chance against you. Alas, I was not lucky enough to be born or become knight material. Only I didn't understand - against whom and for what was the vengeance carried out?