“Ugh! This bastard!”
The scrawny swordsman, whose left wrist had been seized, flared up. Caught off guard by the sudden attack, he instinctively reached with his right hand to grab the hilt of the sword propped beside him.
“Draw that, and you die here.”
At Dong Hae-il’s cold warning, the swordsman flinched and glared. In an instant, his eyes filled with a thick killing intent. It seemed he had made his way here by mercilessly drawing his sword whenever things went wrong.
I had no intention or right to blame him. The same was true for the other three of us sitting around the table, myself included. The sabers and swords that martial artists wore at their waists were by no means mere decorations.
Anyone could see that the scrawny swordsman was at a disadvantage. His wrist was twisted, and the distance to Dong Hae-il was too close. Before he could even draw his sword, his wrist would be broken, and a fist would fly into his face.
Dong Hae-il had made it seem like he suspected me, lulling the scrawny swordsman into a false sense of security before striking at his weakness in a single move.