Chapter 91 The Battle of Darkshire Woods part 6

Jack sized up his new opponent as they slowly circled each other. The gnoll's footwork was delicate and deliberate, and for every minute shift Jack made in his posture or stance, the creature made an equal adjustment, leaving no gap in its defense, no matter how small.

After several long moments of studying each other, the dogman made the first move.

It sprang forward with near-blinding speed, bringing its blade down in a tight arc to strike at Jack's neck. Jack twisted his body and threw the haft of his axe up at the last moment, stopping the blade a few inches before it made contact. Twisting his axe around, he attempted to throw the gnoll's guard to the side by catching the creature's sword with his axe head. Before he could do so, the gnoll stepped towards him, letting the grip on its weapon go soft so that the blade slid harmlessly off the haft and gave no purchase for the head to grab onto. Following through with its step, it was now past Jack's guard, and with a swift flick of it's wrist snapped the blade up across Jack's cheek, leaving a decent-sized gash right across the middle of it.

Jack swore and pulled back, trying to regain his positioning for a response. But the gnoll wasn't about to give him the chance to respond. It immediately followed through with a broad rising slash that aimed to split Jack from hip to shoulder, forcing him back onto the defensive.

Chaining one attack after the next, the creature exerted tremendous pressure on Jack's abilities, and on more than one occasion the creature managed to his blade past Jack's guard and make more little nicks on the unarmored parts of his body, until Jack was leaking blood from nearly a dozen different cuts.

The longer the fight went on, the more angry and desperate Jack became. Every time he saw an opening and went on the offense, the dogman would out-maneuver him and force him back into a defensive posture. He couldn't seem to touch the damn thing. Every gap he made a strike at, he axehead would always arrive half a second too late to make contact, no matter how well he timed his attacks or how much he tried to anticipate the creature's dodges. It was as if it could read his mind, or had some sort of innate ability to anticipate actions before they occurred. It was unnerving. And he was starting to seriously wear out. His arms and legs burned from the constant exertion, and his lungs ached as he fought for breath. The loss of blood was also starting to take effect, and he was beginning to feel a bit light-headed and woozy.

Then it clicked. The gnoll wasn't trying to kill him. The gnoll was toying with him.

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What was the point of that? Was it just for sport, or did it have a purpose in doing so?

And why in the blue-blazing fuck was it SO FAST? Was it magically enhanced or something?

He had to do something to turn the tide in his favor. The thing was clearly either physically better than he was, or a better fighter than he was, or had some kind of magical buff making him fight better, or Frumpkin forbid, some combination of the three. And at this rate, if he didn't level the field fast, he was going to wind up with a very elegant curved sword sticking out of his chest.

He knew what he had to do to win.

But he wasn't certain it wouldn't also end up killing him in the process.