“Wow.” The man crooks his mouth. “…That’s good. That’s the way to go. I don’t mind those who are quick on the uptake.” A large whirlwind.…That’s the weapon swung at me on the rooftop… the blood red crimson lance that tried to mercilessly slaughter me. “Servant… Lancer” “That’s right. And your Servant could be Saber”, …Or maybe not...So who the hell are you anyway?” There’s no sign of his casual demeanor from before. In response to Lancer, fi lled to the brim of murderous intent, Archer remains silent. …The distance between the two is about fi ve meters. The weapon in Lancer’s hand is about two meters. For that man with the bestial smell, I the remaining three meters are meaningless. “…Heh. You’re not the type to engage in oneon-one combat. So you must be Archer.” He doesn’t respond to the sneering voice either. Confronting each other, strangely, are red and blue. The two counterfeit colored knights are already watching for the other’s clinching blow. “…All right. I don’t like it, but now we’ve met, we’ll just have to fi ght. Come on, take out your bow, Archer. I have some manners, so I’ll at least wait for that.” Archer does not respond. There’s nothing to say to an enemy he must defeat. That steel back of his seems to declare so. “Archer.” I talk to his back. “I won’t help you. Show me your powers here.” I hear a faint, “Heh” and see a grin on his face as if to answer me, and the red knight dashes. Shortsword in hand, the red bullet launches. What meets him is a blue spear-thrust.If the dashing Archer is a raging wind, the responding spear head is a divine wind. The sword is swung, a swing to defl ect the thrust.Archer parries the thrust of the high speed lance with his shortsword. The one in red stops. The enemy dodged Archer’s rush. He doesn’t even let him get within two meters. For a long spear, distance is always preferred. As Lancer has a weapon almost two meters long, he only needs to attack when the enemy comes into his range. Thrusting at an approaching enemy is easier than ousting. His temper a burning fi re. Lancer closes in with each blow, with no thought of stopping in the future. 18.
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