The long blade crossed the universe drawing a beautiful semi-circle.
The intertwined roots are massively chopped and torn, and a red cross section is exposed.
The boiling fluid then erupted violently from it.
Something elongated pops up from between the soot and the roots to the russell I bent over and avoided.
It's a thorn with a tip as pointed as a cone.
A swordsmack on the thorn with the belly of a returned sword makes use of its recoil to earn distance.
Standing on safe ice, Russell looked up at the monster's giant body as he breathed.
The part I slashed earlier will be covered in gray cold air as soon as I look at it.
It was Yuryl's magic trick.
Ice frozen from the scratches of the roots also enters its interior.
The countless intertwined roots, already monster feet, had discolored gray to near the knee.
I wonder how many swords you've been waving already.
The white breath that exhales is irrelevant, and the arms and feet are heavy as if they were made of lead.
Russell knew the limits were close, but not much time was left.
Each of Yuryl's magic moves to freeze the ground and Lambmerla's magic moves to defend herself have already been used twice.
This means that no further stopping is possible today.
Completely crushing the monster's leg before the effect of the icy magic trick was lost was the role imposed on Russell and Tor.
The exhaled swordsman scaffolds a frozen scar and runs up all at once.
The blade flashes and cloudy body fluids dance.
Now three thorns pop up, and one that couldn't be squeezed sharply scrapes the meat off his thighs.
"Come on!"
To the impatience called for, Russell bit his back teeth hard.
With only a few health left, this leg won't allow you to move properly.
But at the next moment, the swordsman's body stood in exactly the same place it was before he moved out.
The foot wound had disappeared, but the body of the monster clearly retains the slashing mouth I just put on.
Russell, realizing that he had been helped, ran sharply his gaze at the man waving his sword to his other leg.
Its back teeth made even more mistletoe noises.
Russell's work would have been much clearer if he had unleashed this overflowing struggle.
But on the red epidermis that cover the body of the Lord of the Labyrinth, the power of flames does not work at all.
Rather, the ice, which is an ally, only melts out.
Russell, staring quietly at Thor's back, lifted his sword tip to its usual height and breathed down to the bottom of his lungs.
The familiar movement immediately draws the swordsman back heartless.
By losing to Thor, who was a much lower rank, Russell was noticed by various things.
The most important of these is that the forged sword never betrays itself.
Until then, he believed that any opponent could be beaten as long as he had powerful martial arts.
But Thor's unleashed slaughter shatters Russell's pride.
And because of that defeat, Russell is standing here now.
A swordsman's true reliance on existence is not martial arts.
It is the very sword that has been wielded.
The heavily exhaled swordsman leaped his body high.
The sword wielded has become part of the russell like an already stretched arm.
A flash of yokoyagi.
It was completely out of my mind, a swing of the synagogue.
Slightly late, a clear sound echoes from the sword body.
A view of the simultaneously disjointed cross-section of roots rapidly withering under cover of ice appears in Russell's eyes.
And the unbelievable appearance of the Lord of the Labyrinth, who slowly falls.
The swordsman accidentally leaks a grunt at the sight in front of him.
"I... strong... could I be?
Standing down on the ground, Russell hurried to face next door.
There stands Tor, who has likewise just severed the monster's leg, roughly exhaling into his sword.
After staring at each other for a long time, the men lifted the ends of their lips as they had stated.
One breath lags and a loud ground sounds, and the monster, who has lost his bottom from both knees, rolls unnecessarily to the ground.
A loud voice of joy rose from the rear to look like he had a buttcake on him.
Tor and Russell, who snorted, held up their swords to add a stop and ran out.
Before that, there is also a loud grunt.
The Lord of the Labyrinth, who fell behind, had at some point raised his arms wide.
Along with that, the tentacles are pulled out from under the ground as well.
It was the burning giant corpses whose tips had cracked the ground and dragged it out.
No, if you look closely, countless corpses seem to be pulling in and shaping the giant.
Its height is more than three times that of the Tors. The number is roughly twenty.
It was a desperate number of differences that the Demonic King had shown off the moment he thought the winning opportunity was born.