Alongside a mighty roar, struck by the oncoming blow of a black bracchium, Breznon was sent flying into the air, spinning his body around to unsheathe and aim a kick at his opponent’s face.
The steel-wrought Iron Legs were concealed by pants and shoes, unperceivable by an opponent upon first encounter. His older brother, the Iron-Arms, would always strongly assert himself, but since Breznon did no such thing, there was no end to those who misread his kicks.
This opponent would likewise choose to catch the blow without dodging, and would have his face smashed in by Breznon’s Iron Legs―― that instant, Breznon’s leg was caught in his opponent’s jaws, and shattered.
Breznon: [Ah?]
Widening his eyes at the impossible situation of having lost out in hardness, Breznon froze as the joint of his other leg was met by a flash of claws, severing the fixture between flesh and steel as his left leg was torn from its root.
Right leg crunched, and left leg severed by claws, Breznon had been disarmed in an instant.
And then――,
Breznon: [Wh-what the hell, are you――]
???: [――Luck hath pissed upon thee. I be naught but a fordeemed wretch.]
The gaping jaw sunk its teeth into Breznon’s windpipe, nowhere left to run. That biting force, capable of even crushing legs of steel, was something that Breznon’s slender throat had no way of resisting.
???: [――――]
Fangs gnashed, and the yoke which tethered the empty life was lost; the undead known as Breznon shattered like ceramic, crumbling to smithereens.
Ascertaining that, the one who had enacted that by his own hand―― nay, by his own fangs, looking down the slope of the mountain that crumbled due to the tremors of battle, slowly turned around,
