Chapter 17: The Werewolf
17: The Werewolf ’Crack!’
Abelardo, on the ground, caught the blade Lothar thrust down at him with both hands. The plates of his mail gauntlets clamped onto the edge of Lothar’s arming sword, preventing it from advancing an inch.
"Good. Very good. You’ve succeeded in enraging me!"
Just as the spectators in the stands thought the tide was about to turn and Lothar was about to snatch victory from defeat, Abelardo suddenly exerted immense force. His muscles bulged, becoming as hard as granite, and he forcibly threw Lothar, who was mounted on top of him, off. He then immediately scrambled up, intending to retrieve his hand-and-a-half sword, which was stuck in the mud.
But Lothar wasn’t about to give him that chance. His formidable stamina allowed him to spring up from the ground quickly. With a powerful shove, he knocked Abelardo sprawling to the side. Lothar gripped his arming sword with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade tip, aiming to thrust it into the eye slit of Abelardo’s great helm.
But his opponent was faster. Abelardo crossed his arms before his chest, blocking the thrust. Then, with a twist of his hands, he gripped Lothar’s blade and snapped it in two.
"Get the hell off me!" he roared, his voice raw and desperate.
’Thump—’
Lothar was once again kicked away by Abelardo. Both were now bare-handed. The sound of their breathing beneath their great helms was like the wheezing of bellows.
Lothar noticed that Abelardo’s physique had grown even larger than before. His previously loose surcoat was now stretched taut, and though he was somewhat stooped, he still resembled a small giant.