At that moment, Lance dropped his facade of weakness, drawing his greatsword and sweeping it out.
But the Witch easily blocked with her hammer, mocking, "Do you think you're fooling anyone?"
She licked her lips with a look of indulgence. "Such a robust body. I can hardly wait to feast on it."
Lance continued to swing, his face grim. This state was constantly consuming his Spiritual Essence; he wouldn't last much longer.
The greatsword and hammer clashed, metal ringing against metal. The force of the impact traveled up the blade, making the already weak Lance's limbs go soft.
The Witch, showing no regard for martial virtue, pressed her advantage. She kept swinging her hammer, forcing Lance to expend his strength while the illness further eroded his body.
Lance knew if he dragged this out any longer, he would certainly lose. He had to find a way to fight with everything he had...
"ARGH!"
