It had been a very, very long time since Anjou had felt this lingering sense of life on the edge, especially when fighting a human.
Your body had to remain taut every single second. The moment you let your guard down, countless new wounds would appear on your skin—some merely superficial, but others fatal. You never knew at which exact moment you might truly be killed. This dual stimulation of flesh and spirit truly set the heart racing. It even made Anjou recall the days long ago when he had first joined the Lionheart Society, campaigning alongside his teacher and dearest friends.
The wounds of varying sizes across Anjou's arms and chest included bruises pooling with dark red blood, as well as scratches and abrasions that looked like claw marks. Even his neck and the corners of his eyes were bleeding, and the lenses of his glasses were shattered in half... The last time he had looked this battered must have been at the seaside park in Japan, but back then he had been facing thousands of corpses, whereas this time he was facing a human—and a single man, fighting entirely alone.
Chapter 1037